Red and Black
by Caseysfancy
Summary: Sequel to Syndicate. Hego's dead and Global Justice is gone. There's nothing to slow the Black Rabbits' plan of world domination now. Except for a plucky red head, her boyfriend, a bitter green vixen, a reformed mad scientist, and the edgy ragtag crew they've been coerced into cooperating with. D/S K/R. More details inside!
1. Prologue: Anya Brotz

**A/N: **Hey there everyone! See? I told you I'd be back :) I've had a hellish week at school, and thought I'd reward myself by getting to write this little number. For anyone reading this who has not read 'Syndicate', I highly encourage you to go read that before reading this. Otherwise, this story won't make any sense. 'Syndicate' can be found at: s/7828586/1/Syndicate

Here's a more detailed summation of the story:

_With Global Justice gone and the major governments of the world oblivious to the impending terror to be carried out by Lucas Cutting and his Black Rabbits, Kim, Ron, Drakken, Shego and the Syndicate must find a way to stop them. As if that weren't a daunting task enough, the constant moral struggle between Kim and the Syndicate is making the process even more difficult._

_However, perhaps seeking out aide from a certain Rebel group from the ravaged country of Leiriakkesh will help them hit Cutting where it hurts. _

_In addition to trying to save the world - again - Drakken must try and manage his newly found parental role. He'll find, though, that trying to get close to his punky, prodigal daughter is not an easy task._

Again, this story is rated M; mainly for language, mature thematic elements, and violence. But there will be some good ol' fashioned sexy time as well.

This first installment is just a short prologue concerning the origins of everyone's favorite little murderous shit: Anya Brotz

Please R&R! Comments are loved and questions are encouraged!

* * *

January 14th, 1990

Ishim, Russia

On a quiet street, in the dead of night, there was a terrible ruckus going on in the shabby apartment of the Brotzs. Three aesthetically generic men were tearing up the interior of the living space, and the Brotzs – a young married couple – sat on the torn sofa, terrified.

One of the men were plowing through the kitchenette cabinets, shoving the china plates to the floor. Mrs. Brotz flinched each time one of her mother's plates shattered against the moldy linoleum. The other two were rifling through the flimsy bookcase in the living room, taking the books off the shelves, shaking them open and then throwing them on the ground.

"You don't have anything in this fucking apartment!" one of the men ravaging the bookshelf yelled. "Fucking incredible! How do you not have at least one thing of value?"

Mr. Brotz blinked helplessly up at the man. He didn't understand him; his English was very limited. Mr. Brotz's lips quivered as he tried to make his mouth form words.

"I – I . . . do no," he trembled.

"What?" the man yelled. "What did you fucking say, you fucking kike?"

Mr. Brotz looked up at the man in front of him, recognizing the slur. His hands, which had been resting on his lap, curled into fists. After a moment's contemplation, Mr. Brotz started to get to his feet. His verbal attacker immediately struck him to the ground. Mrs. Brotz shrieked and moved to help her husband.

"Don't fucking move! Don't fucking move!" the man screamed, turning to face her and jabbing a finger in her face.

"Hey," said the second man at the bookshelf. He was eying Mrs. Brotz's wedding ring. It was small and simple, but the Marquis diamond perched on the center of the band was thus far the most valuable thing in the apartment. He crossed the room and made a grab at her left wrist.

Mrs. Brotz yelled again, trying to tear away from his grasp. Seeing his wife struggle, Mr. Brotz unsteadily got to his feet and lurched forward to defend her. At once, the same man who had struck him the first time hit him again. Once Brotz was on the floor again, the attacker placed his heavy boot on his head, keeping him down.

"You don't the Black Rabbits' help for free, Shylock," the attacker rumbled. He turned to the partner grasping Mrs. Brotz's wrist. "Take it."

The other Rabbit wrestled the ring off of Mrs. Brotz's finger and shoved her into the couch. She cried as he wrenched away the beautiful gift her husband had given to her, and she lay against the cushions sobbing.

"Found something!" the third Rabbit called from the kitchenette. He rounded the counter, holding up a small plastic bag filled with Russian currency and smaller baggies filled with a fine white powder. "It was under the broiler pan."

The first Rabbit stared, disbelieving. He looked down at the man under his foot. "You slimy motherfucker," he hissed, "trying to hide what you owe us."

As he began to reach into his jacket pocket, another voice entered the scene: "That's enough."

All five people looked toward the apartment's front landing to see Lucas Cutting standing there. He was eying the man standing on Mr. Brotz warningly. After a moment, he gestured for the bag, which was brought to him. Cutting opened it and sifted through the contents. After counting the money, he opened one of the smaller bags, dipped the tip of his finger into the powder and then ran it across his teeth.

"Give Mrs. Brotz her ring back," he ordered. The Rabbit who had ripped it off her finger, flung the jewelry back at the women.

Slowly, Cutting made his way through the ransacked apartment, kicking away objects in his path. As he meandered through all five people watched him; the three Rabbits lazily and Mr. and Mrs. Brotz apprehensively.

Cutting came to a stop as he faced the apartment's closet door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Brotz stiffen and she let out a quiet whimper. He opened the door and threw back the two coats hanging inside. Standing at the back of the closet was a small toddler: a little girl with curly brown hair and large hazel eyes. She looked up at Cutting placidly. Despite all of the commotion and her parents' yells and cried, she was not afraid.

Kneeling, Cutting came to the toddler's eye level, "Что такое имя?" he asked.

"Anya," chirped the child.

Cutting smiled and exchanged a few more words with the Brotz's daughter. Anya replied as best as a three year old could, and Cutting was pleased with that.

After a moment, he excused himself and went over to Mrs. Brotz.

"I know you understand English better than your husband," he said. Mrs. Brotz looked at up Cutting with red, puffy eyes and a blotchy face, afraid of what he was going to tell her. "I want you tell Anya that she is going to come with me. Tell her that she shouldn't be afraid. She'll be taken care of."

Mrs. Brotz stared, horrified at the man in front of her. She made to speak, but the only sound that came was a choked, gurgling in the back of her throat. She finally conceded, getting up from her seat and going over to Anya. She took her daughter into her arms and explained that she was to go with Mr. Cutting. That he would take care of her for a little while and that Mama and Papa would pick her up soon.

Mrs. Brotz released her child, and Anya shuffled towards Cutting. He scooped her up and she rested her head on his shoulder. Smiling warmly at Mrs. Brotz, he turned and headed for the apartment door.

As he past the Rabbit that had been raiding the kitchen, he whispered: "Kill them."

Then he and Anya left.

* * *

_Name: Anya Vera Brotz_

_DOB: 7/4/1986_

_Height: 5'4 ½"_

_Weight: 130 lbs._

_Eye Color: Green_

_Hair Color: Brown_

_Race: White_

_Nationality: Russian_

_ Admitted into Global Justice Agent Academy in the Fall of 2000, under duress of threats and bribery of Lucas Cutting. She entered classes under the pseudonym: Minka Vera Carlisle. _

_ She excelled in all her classes, spent inordinate amounts of time in the Global Justice robotic and chemical labs and volunteered in GJAA library and hall of records. She received outstanding marks and comments from all of her instructors._

_ She graduated early in the spring of 2005, and immediately went to work at Global Justice headquarters. Once again, she administered her job with all the finesse and professionalism as she did her schooling. In 2006, Dr. Betty Director promoted her to work with the Agency's top Agent, William James Du._

_ I, Dr. Anthony Wabash, admitted her into GJAA knowing full-well of her actual identity and affiliation with the terrorist group: The Black Rabbits. I did so because Lucas Cutting threatened my family's lives. Since I was 'reasonable' he has left my family and I alone, and has wired us massive amounts of currency. I am sorry that I have done this. I should've realized that his promise was a farce. I only have a short period of time left; Cutting's men are in the next room. They have wound bags around the heads of my wife and children and have lined them against the wall. They allowed me – ordered me – this last bit of courtesy to write a letter explaining myself. I cannot. I have failed my family, my work, and myself. I am sorry._

_**** Rooke – This letter and the files attached were sent to me the day after Henry's death. It was accompanied with a police report surmising the murders of GJ's Dean of Admissions, Dr. Wabash and his family._

_ The files on our Ms. Brotz are pretty run-of-the-mill, but I thought you might find them useful. Good luck._

_B. Director_

* * *

"It's good to have you back, Anya," Cutting said as he and his partner strolled into the Sardinian mansion.

"It is good to be back. You know I will do anything for you, Lucas, but being Minka Carlisle was a bit much."

"Ah, but you played the role to a tee!" Cutting complimented.

Anya smirked. "I'm back under your command, sir. We've surely rattled the Syndicate. Global Justice is ashes; now what do we do?"

"We through a party, my dear."

* * *

**A/N: **I probably won't get around to writing Chapter 1 until this Thursday, so I hope this little taste suffices for now.

Just incase it is not clear: I, by no means, support the use of derogatory slurs like 'Kike' or 'Shylock'. Personally, I cannot stand bigotry or the language that is used to portray it. However, in order to make the characters their own and more realistic, I used it. The language/personal views of characters do not necessarily reflect the views of the author. Just sayin'.

Please leave a review (or a question if you have any)! Have a great weekend everyone!


	2. On the Floor

**A/N**: This chapter turned out to be a bitch the start writing; I just couldn't get going, ya know? But I found a way around it: write D/S smut! That being said, there is fairly graphic sexiness below. So if you're not into that . . . skip it, I guess?

Honestly, the first part of this chapter is still slow moving, but I couldn't figure out a way to explain what would be happening in the next chapter without some kind of preface. I am not a very good writer sometimes.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed/faved/followed the last chapter! I really appreciate, you guys. I really do.

Please read and review!

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own anything.

* * *

_Red - the blood of angry men_

_Black - the dark of ages past_

_Red - a world about to dawn_

_Black - the night that ends at last_

_Alain Boublil; Les Miserable_

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time everyone had returned to the Gordon's home from the funeral; Kim finally gave Rooke the manila envelope that Dr. Director had imparted to her. The contents of the parchment turned out to be a series of files concerning Minka Carlisle's true identity.

Her name was Anya Brotz. She was twenty-one years old, and a citizen of Russia. Other papers in folder detailed numerous personnel files, robotic blue prints (including the ones for the ATP), chemical equations and compounds, and top-secret transcripts that she had stolen from Global Justice. It was unclear (and unlikely) if the small stack of papers was the entirety of Anya's sabotage. The worst needed to be assumed: That Cutting and his henchwoman were firmly buried in the inner workings of the Global Justice organization. Although, now that it had been suspended, the question arose whether or not exterminating GJ's current operations had been Cutting's ultimate objective, or if it was just a small phase in his grand scheme.

Either way, Cutting was moving forward and they needed to do likewise.

After Rooke and Margo were finished mulling through the paperwork, Kim and Ron both expressed their desire to continue working with the Syndicate. Kim gave them very much the same spiel that she had given Ronan at the funeral.

It took a little coaxing, but Kim and Ron managed to convince Rooke that they should be allowed to accompany the Syndicate on their mission. Surprisingly, Ronan said a few – albeit condescending – things that helped to influence Rooke's decision. Upon hearing the decision, Shego butted into the conversation, telling Rooke and Margo that she and Drakken would be coming with the Syndicate as well.

While Rooke was prepared to allow Kim, Ron, Drakken, and Shego to accompany his team, he was less prepared to keep shuttling the Possible and Stoppable families, and Karen around with them. Frankly, it was a hassle and it wasn't safe. They also needed to find a spot to hide the Gordons away. What with their location now being known to the Black Rabbits, it was no longer safe for them to be in or around Go City.

Angela was quick to address another problem: How deeply had Anya delved into the lives of Kim, Ron, Drakken, and Shego? Who else was in potential danger due to their ties with the four of them?

Kim's mind immediately began working through all the conversations she had had with Anya. Her insides went icy as she remembered telling the Rat about her grandmother, Uncle Slim, and Joss.

They could not save everyone that they knew, that was unrealistic. It was decided that they would gather those that were most likely in immediate danger: Grandma Possible, Slim, Joss and Drakken's mother.

As the last person was added to the list, Drakken felt his gut give an uncomfortable churn. He knew that it was likely Cutting knew about his mother, and therefore she needed to be kept safe. However, the fact that he hadn't bothered to call or get into any other kind of contact with her since the invasion made him even queasier about the prospect of seeing her.

The fact that a former villain had saved the world had been widely publicized; meaning, that his mother would've surely realized that he was not in fact a radio DJ, like he had told her for several years. He would also be faced with the duty of telling her that he and Shego were in a relationship, an observation she had probably made from watching the footage of the award ceremony.

_Stupid plants . . . _

Then there was the topper: Drakken had never told his mother about Karen. Not a damn thing about his former fling. He knew his mother would not approve of him living with a girl without the sanctity of marriage, much less indulging in premarital relations. Speaking of that, there was Ronan – the result of the aforementioned sex.

Drakken didn't know whether or not his mother would be horrified that he had a child out of wedlock, or be ecstatic that she was a grandmother. She had been bothering him for so long about settling down that he hoped it was the latter.

He had been so wrapped up in his own fears and thoughts about the idea of introducing his mother to the current situation, that he had failed to notice the equally uneasy expressions etched into both Karen's and Ronan's faces. They didn't want to have to deal with Drakken's mother any more than he did.

Next came the dilemma of transplanting the Possibles, Stoppables, Gordons, Mama Lipsky, and Karen to an unknown location. Initially, Karen was unwilling to speak up, but she knew a place that was (most likely) safe from, and unknown by the Black Rabbits.

"My parents have a summer ranch in Montana," she said, fidgeting with her hands uneasily. "It's a two hundred acre piece of land, near the Canadian border. The ranch house is more than big enough for everyone."

During her offer, Ronan stared wide-eyed and horrified at her mother.

After mulling it over for a bit, it was decided that going to the Anderson ranch was probably the best option. A small part of Karen wished she had kept her mouth shut; as with Drakken's worries about his own mother, she winced at the prospect of Ronan's father meeting her parents. Just like she had done with Ronan, she had never disclosed Drakken's identity to her parents.

They needed to move quickly. That, they knew. In the wee hours of the following morning, it was decided that Sutton would accompany Drakken to North Plainfield, New Jersey to pick up his mother. Derek would go with Mr. and Mrs. Dr. Possible, Jim, and Tim to pick up Grandma Possible at her retirement facility in Florida. Angela would tag along with Kim and Ron as they went to pick up Slim. Rooke and Margo decided to escort Karen and the Gordons to Montana. Ronan and J.P. would come with them as well.

Once everything was decided, Margo shooed Karen away to go and call her parents (who had been living at the ranch house since the start of May) and tell them that they could be expecting a plethora of visitors the next day.

* * *

Late that night, Shego found herself sitting alone in the kitchen. Everyone was asleep, including her mother. Miriam was physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted from the past few days and had finally allowed herself to climb into bed next to her husband. It was a good thing that she decided to get some sleep, since they would be leaving Go Park early the next morning to travel to northern Montana.

Thinking on the coming morning, Shego looked up at the kitchen clock: 11:40 PM. She, her mother, father, brothers, and Karen would be leaving for the Anderson ranch by 7:00 AM at the latest. Drakken and Sutton would be leaving for New Jersey around four in the morning.

Shego had briefly considered going with Drakken, but after hearing of the sudden departure plans, Miriam had quietly asked her to come with their party instead. Shego didn't need for her mother to give her reason as to her request. After losing one of her children, Shego could only imagine her fear of being parted from another. Granted, Shego was not one to normally appease people's requests, but one from her mother was different . . .

Even though she had agreed to go with her parents, she couldn't shake the mounting concern forming in her chest. With the uneasiness came steady waves of frustration.

If she were capable of actually voicing her problem, she would reveal that she was nervous about being separated from Drakken. In fact, 'nervous' did not fully exemplify the emotion.

She was _scared_.

Scared of what might happen while she and Drakken were apart. She thought back to the petrifying fear that had gripped her stomach when he had been lifted into the Lorwardian spacecraft and she nearly gagged.

Now that she had a better idea of what they were up against when it came to the Black Rabbits, she couldn't keep her mind from imagining Drakken suffering a fate similar to her older brother. Perhaps her aunt had been right. Perhaps, Shego did not have a true concept of what evil actually was.

Over the past few days – after Hego's murder, leading up to his funeral – Shego had not cried; hadn't even felt the urge. Even now, sitting alone in the dark, thinking of his mangled body splattered across the bricks of Go City Park, she couldn't bring herself to tears. She just felt anger.

Hot and green.

In her mind, she tried to put Drakken in Hego's place and found that she couldn't. The visual was too much for her to even theoretically compute. If she couldn't even imagine Drakken's complete absence from her life, how could she deal with it if it actually happened? She needed to be realistic. It _could _happen.

Shego shook her head and laid it against the table, surprised at how worked up she gotten herself. Coming to the realization that she loved the stupid guy made his hypothetical demise more painful than what she would've thought possible.

She needed him. And she hated that . . . sort of.

Glancing up at the clock again, she saw that it was almost midnight. Four hours until Drakken left. Her mind slid to happier thoughts of the doctor: their first _real _kiss (moodulators don't count), seeing him in the Lorwardian ship (albeit, that was awkward), the night of the award's ceremony, managing to make-up after their spat at Rooke's manor, and – of course – the short period of time at the festival when they had admitted their _true _feelings for one another.

Shego and Drakken had not spent much time with each other over the last few days, as Shego was meticulously fussing over her mother. They hadn't even slept together – literally or figuratively – for several days. She missed it. She missed knowing him in the bedroom, both in the intimate and in the sexual sense.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't help but think in terms of finality.

This could be her last chance to be with him.

Setting her jaw, Shego got up from the kitchen table and went upstairs. She was thankful for her ninja-like ability to be silent and unnoticeable. She had never _ever_ fooled around under her parents' roof, and, even though she was a full-grown woman, she didn't want to get caught. Luckily, her bedroom was all the way at the end of the upstairs hall, far away from her Jay and Miriam's room.

Shego quietly opened her bedroom door a crack and slid in. She glanced at the sleeping mound in her bed before deftly shutting the door and turning its lock. She slowly walked over to the bed, craning her neck to see whether or not Drakken was sleeping.

Of course he was.

Delicately, Shego crept on the covers, hovering over Drakken. She was trying to decide how she wanted to go about initiating this. She tried staring at him for a bit, hoping that the sense of someone watching him would pull him from his slumber. It didn't work as well as she hoped. Instead of Drakken waking up, a solitary vine slithered out from under the covers and wrapped around her wrist. The plant held her tenderly and even rubbed affectionately against her skin.

After watching it for a moment, Shego adjusted herself into a more languid position along the doctor's body. Using the hand that wasn't being cradled by the vine, she softly brushed her fingers against his hairline; running her nails through his black locks every now and again. As much as she wanted to talk and be with him at that moment, she found it difficult to bother him when he looked so . . . peaceful. He, who was so usually so manic and exuberant, almost looked like a different person when asleep.

Several minutes passed before Shego tilted her head to the side of his face, softly kissing his neck, jaw, cheek, and ear. At once, Drakken shifted next to her, blindly rolling off of his side, the vine wrapped around Shego's wrist retracting back to him. Dazedly, his eyes fluttered open, focusing on the woman next to him. Confused, he went to open his mouth, but was quickly silenced by Shego's full lips on his.

A surprised muffle gurgled at the back of Drakken's throat as Shego's mouth covered his more forcefully than necessary. Still unsure of what this was about, but not entirely willing to question it, Drakken pulled his hand out from under the comforter and cupped her face. He tried to steady her with his hand and, with his lips, tried to ease the urgency of Shego's sudden affection.

It worked a little bit. Her lips move less frantically over his and she gripped his shirt less tightly. Drakken thought he had finally managed to get her into a calmer, fluid rhythm when she unexpectedly rammed her tongue into his mouth. The sudden invasion caused Drakken to choke and sputter. He pulled his face away from hers.

"She – Saoirse," he corrected quickly; he had forgotten about her request from earlier in the day, "what's gotten in –"

"C'mere," Shego commanded, grabbing the scruff of Drakken's shirt, and pulling him and the comforter to the floor.

He landed with a muffled 'oomph!' and it was barely a second before Shego was on top of him, devouring his face again. Too shocked to fight, Drakken laid there, blindly kissing Shego back. It wasn't unlike her to go for something she wanted without asking, but the fanaticism of her actions made him think that this was more than just sexual urges.

"Saoirse . . . Saoirse," he gasped as her lips trailed over to his to the side of his head, "wait. Wait!"

Drakken damn neared yelped as the blunt edges of Shego's teeth softly bit down on the lobe of his ear. Ungracefully, he wiggled out from under her, holding onto her shoulders as a preventative measure to keep her from tackling him again.

"What?" Shego hoarsely demanded. Her green eyes were wide and wild.

"We can't do _that _here . . . now!" he whispered. His eyes flicked to the bedroom door, hoping that no one had heard them.

"It's locked," Shego explained as she made to crawl over to him. "We'll be quiet. That's why I moved this party to the floor."

"Hold on!" Drakken hissed, locking his elbows so as to keep her at an arm's length. "Are you okay?"

At his question, Shego stopped fighting against his surprisingly strong grip. She looked at him, her mouth falling open a bit. What kind of man questioned the sexual advances of a woman?

Oh right, one that legitimately cared for her and loved her.

God dammit.

Even in the face of the person she loved, Shego did not allow herself to be vulnerable. She couldn't tell him her fear that this could possibly be their last chance together. Even though she had admitted to loving him, she felt foolish that the hypothetical situation had scared her right into his pants.

Easing against Drakken's grip, Shego sat onto of her feet, her eyes falling to the floor.

Dammit. Now she was embarrassed.

"Don't get me wrong," Drakken hurriedly added, "I'm flattered." He unconvincingly chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He let go of Shego's shoulders, sitting back in Indian style.

A minute passed before Drakken spoke again: "Is it about Hego?"

"No!" Shego spat. She had to be careful not to yell. "How the hell could you think that _this_ has anything to do about him?"

"I-I dunno," Drakken stammered, shrinking back a bit. "I just figured – "

"Figured what?" Shego asked angrily. "Figured that my brother's death is the only thing on my mind? Figured that I would jump your bones in order to distract me? Or did you figure that I might want to be close to you at least one more time?"

The last part stumbled out, but Shego glared at Drakken as firmly as she could, willing him to believe that the confession had been intentional.

He stared at her, mouth agape. Finally, he said: "I'm not going anywhere. Nothing's going to happen."

"You don't know that," Shego responded a little to quickly and a little too energetically.

Drakken opened his mouth to argue, but she was right. There was no guarantee that there wouldn't be some kind of Black Rabbit surprise party waiting for him and Sutton once they got to New Jersey. He hadn't thought about it and was surprised that Shego had.

She was right, he supposed: this could be their last night together. As serious as the idea was, he couldn't help but feel a little tickled that she was so concerned about it. It was further reminder that she really did love him.

Trying to squelch the giddiness he felt, Drakken sat up on his knees and leaned into Shego's lips. At first they were stiff and angry, but they quickly gave way to smooth, rolling motions. Careful to keep their mouths in contact, Drakken continued to shift his weight forward, causing Shego to lean back.

"You locked the door?" Drakken whispered as Shego swung her legs out from underneath her, lying on the floor more comfortably.

She nodded, pulling once again on the collar of his nightshirt. Shego adjusted her legs so that Drakken could lie comfortably between them. Lovingly, he tucked her long hair behind her ear and she gently pulled his face to hers. Now that Shego had gotten the initial fear off of her chest, her kisses were more sensual and less over-enthusiastic.

Her arms wound themselves snugly around Drakken's shoulders, pressing his upper body against hers. She was more delicate this time in initiating the French kiss, tentatively probing her tongue into his mouth until he let her come inside. A muffled whimper echoed in Shego's head as Drakken's mouth widened against hers, gripping her body even closer.

At the same time, Shego curled her legs up and hooked them around Drakken's waist, just as his left hand pawed and gripped at the back of her thigh. The same hand slid down her leg until it reached her bottom, handling it purposefully. Shego took in a sharp breath as Drakken's lips travelled off of her mouth and down to her neck. He nipped at the sensitive point of her jugular, making her stomach flip.

As he continued to suckle at her neck and ear, Shego could feel the man on top on her . . . grow more excited. Playfully, she bucked her hips against his. Drakken's lips broke away from her neck, stunned by the movement. Using her nose, Shego nestled it against the side of his face, directing his lips back to hers. He obliged, kissing her sweetly.

"Don't rush me," he whispered, smiling.

Shego smirked, bringing their mouths together again. As they kissed, Drakken's hand shifted from its hold on her bottom, to under the shirt she was wearing. He fumbled his way to her back, trying to find the hooks to her bra. Shego couldn't help but grin, as his kisses grew more frustrated as he couldn't seem to locate the clasps.

"Dr. D," Shego gasped, snickering. She gently pushed him back and sat up enough so that she could pull her shirt over her head. "It's a frontsie."

Drakken sat back on his haunches and watched in admiration as Shego flung the shirt aside and unclasped the lingerie, allowing it to fall away behind her. Even though this wasn't the first time he had seen her like this, Drakken's stomach still fluttered with nervousness at the sight of her bare chest. Despite her being very fit and athletic, Shego's breasts had not 'suffered', so to speak; even the most curvaceous of women would be envious of how perfectly ample and generous they were.

An evil, self-satisfied grin spread across Shego's face as Drakken just stared at her. She shot up to her knees, grabbing his face and kissing him fiercely. The action seemed to bring him back to the present and his arms quickly wrapped around her smooth back.

Shego's hands found the hem of Drakken's sleep shirt and pulled it over his head, breaking the kiss for a moment. Once the garment was off him, Drakken shook his head, waving his hair out of his face. He closed the space between him and Shego again, this time bringing his mouth to her left breast. Shego arched her spine, stifling an elated moan. Drakken placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her back to a horizontal position, all the while maintaining contact with her chest.

He suckled at her breast for a while longer, Shego occasionally twitching pleasurably underneath him. Drakken finally left her chest, kissing a trail up to her waiting mouth. As his tongue passed through her lips, Shego bite it gently, holding on to it before giving it back. The move was simple, but incredibly sexy; and caused Drakken to grind against her pubic bone. Shego twitched and shuddered at the brief friction, before responding in kind, rubbing her hips against his. She could easily make out his shape through the thing flannel of his pajama pants, and the sensation made her dampen in anticipation.

She heard him groan softly above her as she nudged herself him again. She was on the verge of saying something when he backed up off of her and undid the button and zipper of her pants. Grabbing their hems, Drakken started to wriggle them off. To speed up the process, Shego curled her fingers through the belt loops and shimmied. Once the pants were off, Drakken's hands went to curl around the edge of her underwear – a black, lacey thing – and removed those as well.

Shego laid her head back on the floor, waiting for him to do something: mount her, finger her, eat her out, anything. But nothing came. She looked back up at Drakken, only to find him staring at her with the most wondrous expression on his face. She felt her face flush.

Even though they had had sex two times before, Drakken had not really seen Shego naked. The first time, they were in such a frenzy to get to it that he hadn't really bothered to look. The second time, they had been sufficiently wound up in blankets. Now, they were lying on Shego's bedroom floor, the comforter flung to the side, utterly forgotten. He could finally see her.

Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight filtering in from the bedroom windows. Light and shadow contouring her form perfectly. He watched as her breasts rose up and down with each breath. Her stomach seemed to vibrate every now and again, as she waited for him to do something. Her long ebony hair was spread around her; some strands falling over her face and naked body, others lying underneath her.

Seeing her – all of her – made Drakken feel incredibly somber and fortunate. This beautiful woman lying in front of him, waiting to be ravished, had chosen him. After everything: after all the failures, after all the abuse, after knowing all of his annoying quirks, after finding out about his past, she still loved him. Drakken was not religious by any means, but he found himself in that moment mentally praying to God to keep him and Shego safe as they went their separate ways over the next day or so. He couldn't stand to think that this would be the only time he would see her like this.

Carefully, Shego sat up, curious as to what had stopped him.

"You okay?"

He blinked and grinned feebly. "Yes."

Placing her hand on his chest, Shego kissed him gently using the tips of her lips. Drakken's mouth moved smoothly against hers, gradually increasing the depth of the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her into him. Shego's hand slowly slid down the length of his torso, passed his hips and sunk beneath his pants' waistband. A small gasp escaped through Drakken's mouth as she held his rigid form gently.

"Come on," she whispered softly.

He kissed her once more before they both used the same teamwork as before in getting his pants off. Drakken grunted quietly as his erection was freed from the loose flannel.

Shego took in the sight of his nakedness before wrapping her hand around his neck, bringing him into another kiss. Slowly, the pair drifted to the floor. There were a few more moments of simply kissing and petting before they came together.

Shego took in a sharp breath as Drakken entered her. Her legs hooked even tighter around his waist and her inner muscles clenched, which he moaned appreciatively at. The pair stayed in their tangle for a moment, each savoring the feeling of the other, until Drakken drew back slowly and began the repetitive motion of sex.

For the most part, Shego kept her face buried in Drakken's neck as he worked on her. This was partly because she was focusing on not being too vocal, but also because she did not want him to see in her eyes how much this moment meant to her. She didn't think he'd be an ass about it, but old habits die-hard. She wasn't used to being touchy-feely, even in an act such as this.

Shego couldn't deny that this was different than any other sexual experience she had ever had. Partly because she was doing it with someone she loved, and partly because it had been initiated by emotional needs – not physical. Shego hated to admit it, but this wasn't just sex. It was _love-making_. She wanted to gag at the thought, but as long as that revelation wasn't made verbally, she thought she'd be okay.

As Drakken rode her, Shego tried to match his hip thrusts with complimenting pelvic rolls. It seemed to be working for the both of them, since he began breathing raggedly into her neck, and the two motions increased the amount of friction delivered to her sensitive nerve endings. Her stomach began to clench as the rolls over her sensitive nub began to increase. She was unwilling to be over; she dug her heels into the small of Drakken's back, bringing his body closer to hers and making it harder for him to continue.

Again, Shego was struck by how different this experience was. It wasn't about finishing. It was about feeling him like this. She didn't give a damn whether she came or not, just so long as she had him like this.

She flexed her inner muscles as he slid back into her. She felt and heard him give a breathy chuckle. Using the tip of her nose, she nudged his head out of the crook of her neck. Once his lips were in reach, she kissed them. Her hands - which had been roaming over his broad back - wrapped around his neck, holding his face to hers.

Drakken's hip thrusts were growing more rapid, despite the extra resistance Shego was applying to his back. Her stomach continue to clench and twist, as her inner thighs began to slick and ache. Both of them wished they could be a littler louder in the precursors of orgasm. It would've been less painfully wonderful.

Shego loosened the grip her legs had on Drakken's hips, allowing him to work in his full range of motion. The anticipation was too good, and she just needed to cum and get it over with. Two more thrusts and Shego spasmed beneath Drakken: her stomach twitching, wetness pooling out of her, muscles clenching down on him, and legs shaking. To prevent herself from crying out, she held his body tightly and bit his shoulder hard enough to draw little droplets of blood.

Drakken was quick to follow her lead, bringing himself to climax only moments after her. His finish was less physically dramatic, but Shego felt him fill her up. In the initial post-coital moments, the pair just lay embraced.

Raising his head carefully, Drakken brought his lips to Shego's. The kiss was sweet and salty.

"I love you," he said, once their lips separated.

"I love you, too."

Not long after that, did they get up from the floor, put their clothes back on, and climb into bed. Drakken drew the comforter up around them as Shego snuggled into his chest. They silently lay there, both of them uncharacteristically taciturn.

Drakken wasn't entirely sure he ever fell back asleep, but he did hear the soft, short knocks at the bedroom door at four in the morning: Sutton, cuing him that it was time to go. Unwillingly, Drakken unwound his arms from Shego – who had fallen asleep. He got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans, he left the shirt he had slept in on.

Before leaving the room, he knelt by the bed and carefully swept the hair out of Shego's face. The touch roused her and her eyes cracked open.

"I'll see you in Montana," Drakken whispered.

Shego's tired face grew hard and determined as she leaned forward to kiss him good-bye. As she released him, Drakken brought a hand to his neck and plucked a flower that had grown there. He handed it to her, kissed her forehead and got up to leave.

Shego watched him walk out the door, sparing her one last glance and smile. She weakly returned it. Once he was gone, she looked down at the small flower in her hand. She smirked.

It was a cheesy gesture, but it made her feel all giggly and girlish on the inside.

* * *

**A/N: **I gotta give the writers of the show 'Scrubs' props for the term: Frontsie. It was too good not to use.

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I know not a lot happened in terms of story development. But I thought the character and relationship development of Drakken and Shego was important to reestablish.

To my American readers: Happy Thanksgiving!

Reviews are encouraged and questions are welcomed!


	3. June 4th, 2007

A/N: I'M ALIVE! I'm really sorry for the delay in updating this story. There has been quite a lot going on in my life: projects, preparing for my internship, finals, holidays . . . oh, and I got engaged :) Good stuff.

I wish I could say that my New Years Resolution is to update in a more regular manner, unfortunately I'm not sure if that's going to happen. I will continue to write this story, but - as I mentioned earlier - I am starting my final internship on January 14th. It's full time, so I am uncertain of just how busy I will be. I promise, though, I will write and update when I can.

Thanks to those who read and reviewed chapter 2. And thank you to those of you who have added this story to your favorites and are following it. You're awesome.

I hope you all had a good holiday season - whatever it is you may celebrate!

**Disclaimer: ** As hard as it is to believe, I still don't own Kim Possible. What gives? (I do own the characters not affiliated with the original series)

* * *

_North Plainfield, New Jersey_

_11:02 AM, Eastern Standard Time_

_June 4__th__, 2007_

Drakken's heart was in danger of beating its way right out of his throat. He and Sutton were a mere ten minutes from his mother's house. Thus far the travelling had gone smoothly: they left the Gordon's house at four in the morning, took one of the two SUVs parked outside and drove back to the Illinois-Wisconsin border to where they had left the Daeva earlier that week. From there they flew to New Jersey, where they got into a second vehicle and made their way to Drakken's hometown of North Plainfield.

The journey had been silent for the most part. Drakken didn't know what to say to the young man, and Sutton seemed content with not speaking. However, as the pair came closer to their destination, Sutton spoke up.

"Nervous?"

Drakken shifted in the car's passenger seat, clearing his throat. "A little," he finally admitted. "Turn up here."

Sutton turned the wheel, steering the car left and pulling onto an asphalt driveway. A small, one-story house sat on the property. Drakken looked at his childhood home nervously. He hadn't been back here in a long time.

He really did not want to do this.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Sutton asked. His tone was polite enough, but Drakken was able to make out an undercurrent of sarcasm.

"I'm a grown man, thank you very much," Drakken responded hotly.

Sutton smiled and unlocked the car's doors. "Don't take long. If she wants to talk, we can talk on the way."

Drakken nodded and got out of the car. He made his way up the concrete path to the front stoop, trying to ignore Mrs. Weberstein across the street ogling him from over the tops of her rose bushes.

Drakken took a brief moment to collect himself before depressing the doorbell. He heard the chime rind throughout the house and waited.

Not two seconds after ringing the bell, Drakken heard the shuffling of his mother's feet. The door opened and a tower of orangey-pink hair greeted him.

"Drew!" his mother shrieked, wrapping him up in a bone crunching, waist-height hug.

"Hello . . . mother," Drakken gasped, as all the wind was forced out of him.

Before he knew it, his mother had dragged him into the kitchen and was fixing him a ham and cheese sandwich.

"Now, Drewbie," his mother said as she pulled a jar of gherkins out of the fridge, "I know you haven't been telling me things."

Drakken gulped. Even though he had been mentally prepping himself for this on the way to New Jersey, his skin went cold as his mother turned to face him, plate in hand.

"Oh?" Drakken muttered meekly.

"Mm-Hmm." Mrs. Lipsky set down the plate of sandwich and pickles in front of her son. "When were you planning on telling me that you weren't a radio talk show doctor? HMMMMMMM?"

"Um," he mumbled, his eyes falling to his plate. "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Lipsky watched as embarrassment colored her son's face, and she felt her own face soften. She couldn't stay mad at her little boy – even if he was a former mad scientist bent on world conquest.

"Just promise me that that part of your life is over," she begged. "You're a hero now."

Drakken winced at the word: _hero_. Even after more than a week of being called it, it still didn't seem to fit. He hadn't really thought about what he would do since being bestowed a medal of honor. The recognition and admiration of the world was intoxicating, but he wasn't certain if the straight and narrow would make him happy. However, he hadn't really been given an opportunity since the awards ceremony to think about long-term future plans.

Before Drakken could respond to his mother, there was a loud knock at the door. Mrs. Lipsky cheerfully got up to see who else had decided to visit her. She was surprised to find a complete stranger standing on her front steps. She was even more shocked as the handsome young man brushed past her and made for her kitchen.

Sutton eyed the sandwich and then looked at Drakken. "Really?"

"It all happened so fast!"

"Excuse me, young man," Mrs. Lipsky huffed, "it's very rude to come barging into someone's house! Do you know this young man, Drew?"

"Yeah, _Drew_?"

Drakken stared up at Sutton, annoyed. It was becoming clearer and clearer why Ronan liked his company; he was a smarmy smart-ass.

"Mother, this is Sutton Queenin," Drakken introduced blandly.

Sutton turned to the short woman at his side. "Nice to meet you," he turned back to Drakken, "We should go."

"Go?" Mrs. Lipsky asked. "Go where? What's going on?"

"C'mon let's go," Sutton jutted his head towards the door.

"I'll explain on the way, mother," Drakken said getting up from the chair.

"Let's go, Mrs. Lipsky," Sutton urged, taking her gently by the arm. Stammering in confusion, she was reluctantly led out of her house.

Drakken followed them out, being sure to grab the ham and cheese sandwich before leaving.

* * *

_Tampa, Florida_

_11:27 AM, Eastern Standard Time_

_June 4__th__, 2007_

"James! Anne!" Grandma Possible cried as her son, daughter-in-law, and grandsons appeared in the recreation room of her retirement center. Abandoning her game of Canasta, she made her way across the room.

"Where have you all been? I've tried calling the Stoppables several times," the old woman asked, as Jim and Tim leapt into their grandmothers waiting arms.

"Er," James stammered, eying the room, "it's kinda a long story, Mom."

It was then Grandma Possible noticed a tall, muscular man standing a few feet behind her family. His head was shaved and had hard, steely blue eyes. Noticing her gaze, he grinned at her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

Again, Mr. Dr. Possible's mouth wavering for a moment, trying to decide how to answer; thankfully, his wife stepped in.

"It is for the time being," she answered. "But we would like you to come with us. I promise, we'll explain on the way."

"Where are we going?"

"To Montana!" the twins answered in unison.

"Are we visiting Slim?" Grandma asked, confused.

"Not exactly," James responded. "But he'll be where we're going to."

Grandma Possible frowned at her son, and her gaze once again shifted to the stranger standing behind them. "What's going on?"

* * *

_Great Falls, Montana_

_10:21 AM, Mountain Standard Time_

_June 4__th__, 2007_

Victoria Anderson sat - in a rather surly manner - at the long dining room table. A small mound of stationary and envelopes were stretched out in front of her. She looked very important and preoccupied with the task in front of her, but her mind was filled with other things.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the giant Tortoise Shell cat slink past the doorway. He had showed up with a note the day before. The sender – a Dr. Gordon-Rooke – requested that she and her husband allow the cat to stay with them until they arrived. Victoria was flabbergasted and astounded by this person's gall, as well as the randomness of the event.

That is, until she received the phone call . . .

Victoria shot out of her chair upon hearing knocks at the front door. With great determination and grace, she strode from the dining room, through the living room, and into the massive front hall, the cat following her.

As she entered, a short maid also appeared in the hall, arm stretched out to grasp the front door's handle. Victoria shooed her away, perhaps more rudely than necessary. Obeying, the maid scuttled away.

Victoria took a moment to primp herself, gazing into the oval mirror mounted on the wall next to the door. She tucked a piece of curled auburn hair behind her ear and adjusted her rose colored blouse, before reaching for the doorknob.

"Hey, Mom," Karen greeted slowly as the door was opened.

Victoria eyed her daughter with suspicion. Then her eyes flicked over Karen's shoulder to the large SUV, where several people were piling out of it. Next to the car, she spied her granddaughter dismounting a black sports bike.

"May we come in? I'll explain. It's a long story," Karen said in a hushed voice.

"I look forward to hearing it," Victoria replied, and turned on the heel of her Kate Spade shoe, striding back into the house.

Karen watched her mother go. Ronan came to stand in tandem with her. As per usual, Turtle wound himself around the two women's feet.

"She's mad?"

"Yup," Karen sighed.

* * *

_Great Falls, Montana_

_11:04 Mountain Standard Time_

_June 4__th__, 2007_

Victoria and her husband, Edwin, sat staring at their daughter from behind the desk in Edwin's summer home office.

Karen had just finished telling them about the events that had led to them spontaneously hosting a large number of strangers for an indefinite amount of time. As she concluded her story with a summary of Hego's murder, the three sat in silence. Karen waited for one of her parents to say something. Anything.

Finally, her mother sputtered: "You couldn't have called us while you were in Cornwall?"

"Mom – "

"Your father and I tried telephoning you for _days_," Victoria seethed. "Can you imagine the worry we felt when David called us, when you didn't show up for the rest of rehearsals? Or the concert?"

_Shit_, Karen thought. She had completely forgot about her dance company's that The Black Rabbits didn't bring about a second apocalypse, she would be in deep trouble with the company's director when she got back to Brooklyn.

"Look, Mom, I'm sorry – "

"You always are, Karen," Victoria interrupted. "You'd think after forty years, you'd understand what is polite. When you go on a trip, you inform your family and workplace so that no one panics."

"Didn't really have that opportunity, Mom."

"Victoria," Edwin broke in, "I don't think now is the time to pick apart etiquette discrepancies. We need to focus on the fact that we have been shouldered with the responsibility of housing several strangers. All of whom are in apparent danger." He turned to face Karen, "There was no where else for you to go? You do realize that by bringing this barrage that you have possibly endangered your mother and myself."

Karen gaped at her father. "Are you seriously mad at me for trying to help these people?"

Edwin blinked. He hadn't meant that, exactly. He sighed and sat back in his leather chair, the material relaxing under his frame.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That wasn't what I meant." There was another pause as he ran his thick fingers along the thin, Errol Flynn-esque mustache on his upper lip. "How _did _you get wrapped up in all of this? What is Ronan doing here?"

_Shit. Shit. Shit._ This time, Karen sat back in her seat. The only reason that she had gotten mixed up in all of this was because she went to find Drew. As nerve racking as that experience had been, telling her parents that an infamous mad scientist had fathered her only child was far scarier than confronting him.

"Karen," her mother prompted, deciding that her daughter had been silent long enough.

Karen sat up in her seat. Her heart was pounding in her throat.

"Well," she began cautiously, "the day after the invasion Ronan came to see me. She wanted to – er – let me know that," Karen sighed, taking the plunge, "she had figured out who her father is."

At the same time, Victoria and Edwin leaned forward over the desk, both staring wide-eyed at their daughter.

"She didn't tell me outright, but I knew she would go look for him. I didn't want her to do anything stupid, you know." Both Edwin and Victoria were, of course, familiar with their granddaughter's erratic temper and violent tendencies. "So, I went to D.C. to tell him myself."

"So he lives in Washington," Edwin prompted.

"Not exactly," Karen confessed. "He was . . . being awarded."

It took a second, but Victoria's face went completely limp with disbelief while Edwin's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Karen's mother suddenly got up from her seat and made for a drink cart set against the wall. She fixed her and her husband two neat scotches, and sat back down.

After a moment, Karen asked: "Doing okay there?"

Victoria held up a finger as she finished a small gulp of the liquor. "Do not try and make light of this, Karen. Not only did you runaway and get pregnant when you were eighteen, but a criminal got you pregnant."

"Yes," Karen affirmed looking at her lap. "That's why I kept him from Ronan. And you two."

Edwin, who had been oddly quiet during this time, spoke up. "What are his plans now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, with saving the world, the award, and now with _this _whole business," he said, referring to the Syndicate-Black Rabbit issue, "what is he planning now? Is he going to utilize this new lease on life? Go 'straight' and so forth?"

"I dunno. Why?"

"What are your plans with this man?" asked Victoria.

Taken aback by the sudden business like tone of her mother, Karen stammered: "What do you mean?"

"Is he coming here? He's a part of this whole mess, yes?"

"Uh, yeah. He another guy went to go pick up his mother in New Jersey. They should be here later, I think."

"So, what are your plans?"

"What are you talking about _plans?_" Karen asked angrily. Under her mother's incredulous gaze, the question clicked. "Oh my God," she muttered. "Mom. I am, in no way, going to . . . get back together with Drew."

"Why not?" Victoria questioned simply, but firmly.

"Because," Karen balked in uncomfortable laughter, "I'm not. I don't want to."

"This isn't what you _want, _Karen," her mother insisted. "This is about what is proper. This is about what is best for Ronan."

"First of all, Ronan is a grown woman – "

"It doesn't matter," Victoria said. "Karen, when you get pregnant, you get married. Ideally, that happens the other way around, but," she broke off, collecting herself. "Your father and I only want what's best for you."

"No. You want what is best for your image," Karen corrected, crossing her arms.

"Karen, please," Victoria commanded. "Are you so intent on fighting us and our apparently smothered lifestyle that you are willing to throw away a complete life for yourself and Ronan?"

"He has a girlfriend," Karen cried exasperatedly, hoping that that fact would get them off her.

"Who? That ill-tempered college co-ed? She's a child," Victoria scoffed. "Please. It won't last."

"Well, I'm not gonna purposely mess a relationship up. That, _and_ I am not getting back together with Drew. End of story."

There were a few more minutes of angry words between Karen and her mother about the properness and conventionality of her relationship with Ronan's father. Finally, Edwin, having enough, put an end to it.

"Let's move on," he growled.

Giving the former conversation, Karen was more than happy to steer away from it and tell her parents how she had gotten mixed up in the current situation. She ran through Derek and John-Paul's break in of Drew and Shego's and how they had made her come with them. She told them about the conversation she had had with Ronan in the workshop at Rooke's manor. It bothered Karen that her parents were less perturbed by the fact that their granddaughter had run away from home with a strange young man and joined a secret vigilante program.

Not wanting to start another coupe, Karen let it go and continued on. She covered the events at Chernobyl the best she could – considering that she had not been there. Next she ran through the scene at Washington DC and then GO City, which had brought them here.

Victoria and Edwin's questions were few and Karen was thankful for that.

* * *

_Denver, Colorado_

_1:00 PM, Mountain Standard Time_

_June 4__th__, 2007_

Kim, Ron, and Angela stepped through automatic doors of the large hotel. Slim was there in one of the ballrooms for some kind of robotics convention.

"May I help you?" called the concierge from behind her marble desk.

The three teens stepped into the hotel's lobby, their steps echoing around the stone space.

"Um yes," Kim said, resting her hands on the front desk, "I'm looking for my uncle. He's supposed to be at the Robotics convention."

"Name?"

"His or mine?"

"Well, I'll need both," the concierge said impatiently. Her eyes flicked to the skull tattoo blazoned across Angela's chest.

"His name is Ephraim Possible. Mine's Kim Possible."

The concierge squinted her eyes and pursed her lips, but she said: "Give me a moment," and she disappeared into the back office.

"I thought your uncle's name was Slim," Ron pondered.

"Nickname," Kim explained. "He's named for this deli owner that used to set up shop by Grandma and Grandpa. I guess when Grandma was pregnant with Uncle Slim, she craved stuff like pastrami and corned beef; Ephraim the deli-guy used to give her and Grandpa extra meat free of charge. Angela, what are you doing?"

While Kim had been recounting the family story to Ron, Angela had slipped behind the front desk and was toying with the computer there.

"Don't worry about it," Angela remarked.

"We don't want to draw anymore attention to us!" Kim whispered, her eyes keeping a watch out for the concierge.

"Whatever," Angela muttered under her breath. "This'll only take a sec."

She quickly took out and inserted what looked to be a USP drive into the computer. The screen flashed in a flurry of pages and colors before Angela ripped the device out of its dock.

"Let's go," she said, trotting out from behind the desk. She climbed the steps that led from the lobby to conference rooms and convention centers.

There was a moment's confusion and pause on Kim and Ron's part, before they tailed after the petite agent.

"What did you do?" Kim asked as she caught up.

"I just messed with their systems a bit is all," Angela explained simply. She whipped out the small drive from her pocket, "Scrambler. It'll keep that judge-y front desk slag busy while we look for Slim. That, and, it briefly blew out their security cameras."

"_Why?"_ Kim asked, annoyed.

"Better safe than sorry."

"Robotics convention," Ron broke in, pointing to a sign at the end of the hall.

The three of them hurried towards the end of the hall and continued to follow the signs until they got to the back-most banquet hall. The room was very large, but seemed crammed with all the machines and equipment that had been squeezed in there for the event.

Kim, Ron, and Angela snaked their way through the hall; Kim keeping a sharp eye out for her uncle's Stetson. Finally, in the far right corner, she saw it.

"Come on," she urged to the others. Picking up their pace, they followed Kim.

"Uncle Slim!" Kim cried out when she could make out more than just his hat.

The tall, thin man turned at the sound of his name. Slim's face brightened when he saw his niece, but he was undeniably confused. Even more so when he saw the small teenaged girl tailing after Ron; she didn't look like someone his niece would be a friend with.

"Hey there, Kimmie. Ron," Slim greeted, brushing his fingertips against the brim of his hat. "What're you two doin' here?"

"It's a long story," Kim said, energetically waving her hands. "I can explain it later, but we need to get going."

"Going? Goin' where?"

"Details later, Uncle Slim!" Kim begged. "Now, where's Joss?"

"Joss?" Slim asked, utterly befuddled. "She didn't come with me, Kim. She's back at home. She's taking some summer school classes for credit."

"What?" Kim sputtered. "She's not here?" Her heart began to pound furiously against her ribs. She turned to Ron and Angela, "Get him out of here. I'll be right back."

Kim jogged out of the banquet hall as Ron and Angela tried to convince Slim to come with them.

Kim kept her eyes glued to the surface of her Kimmunicator as she trotted through the halls of the hotel, keeping her eyes glued the bars of signal on the screen. That was one thing she disliked about traveling to mountainous regions: the signals were iffy at best. Before Kim realized it, she had run right through the hotel's lobby back to the parking lot; and finally the Kimmunicator had gained enough signals to sustain a call. Kim hurriedly punched in the number she had been giving before parting ways with everyone else.

There were two rings before the intended party picked up.

"What?"

"Ronan!" Kim gasped, thankful that the call had gone through. "Ronan, Ron, Angela and I are at the Hyatt in Denver to pick up Uncle Slim and my cousin, but Joss isn't here! She's at the Lazy D Ranch in Helena, Montana."

"And?"

"For God's sake, Ronan!" Kim yelled into the Kimmunicator. "Please stop being so monosyllabically cold! Can you get her? _Please!"_

"Fine." And the call was disconnected.

* * *

_Great Falls, Montana_

_1:17 PM, Mountain Standard Time_

_June 4__th__, 2007_

Ronan hung up her cell phone, eying the mountain peaks in the distance. She stood on the porch for a moment longer before heading back inside her grandparent's ranch house.

She made her way to what could only be referred to as 'The Grand Hall'; a vast, open room with vaulted ceilings, a giant boulder-laden fireplace and plenty of expensive furniture. Most everyone was there.

"I'm going to Helena to pick up Possible's cousin," Ronan said as she strode into the airy space. "You wanna come?" she asked John-Paul, who was up against the wall to her left.

"I don't see why not," the giant responded.

"How do you plan on getting there?" Margo asked as the tall pair began to leave. "The SUVs are not equipped to deal with . . . certain occurrences. And the Ducati cannot hold the both of you."

"We're taking the tank," Ronan called, not breaking her stride.

She and John-Paul made exited the massive house and crossed the dusty lawn, making their way to the large barn and stables several meters from the main house. Two large Shepherd dogs, who were stalking along the inside perimeter of the barn, eyed them wearily. Off in the corner, the Anderson's ranch hand – a middle-aged mustached gentleman named Davis – was buffing out a horse saddle.

"Help you with something?" he asked.

"Nope," Ronan replied, walking up to one of the barn's support beams.

She deftly pressed knots in the wood in a synchronized pattern and waited. From below their feet, there were a series of muted whirring and mechanical shifting noises. A sudden cloud of dust and hay burst away from the floor as a large square door pulled away and slid under itself, revealing a large subterranean garage.

"How long has that been there?" Davis asked, trying to not sound overly concerned.

"A while," Ronan answered, and she and John-Paul delved down the steps.

* * *

_Great Falls, Montana_

_2:33 PM_

_June 4__th__, 2007_

James Possible, Derek, and their crew showed up at the Anderson Ranch a little after two in the afternoon. The approach of the transport vehicle made Shego shoot out of the chair she was occupying on the large wrap-around porch. She couldn't deny that a small weight of disappointed sank her stomach as she saw the Possible family and Derek get out of the car, and not Dr. D.

After the new guests had been led away into the ranch house, Shego sat back down in her chair. It wasn't long until her mother appeared in the chair next to her. Miriam's face was clearly tired and puffy, and her eyes were still colored with the residual redness of tears; but she seemed to be much brighter than she had in days.

"I will wait with you," Miriam said, taking Shego's hand in hers.

"Thanks Mom."

The pair waited for another half an hour before another car made its way up the dusty drive. Miriam felt her daughter stiffen under her grip and then loosen as the car spit out Kim, Ron, Angela, and Kim's uncle.

"Are mom and dad back?" Kim asked as she ascended the wooden steps to the porch.

"Yeah, they're inside," Shego snipped, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Drakken and Sutton not back yet?"

"No," Shego said through gritted teeth. "Go inside."

After Kim, Ron, Slim and Angela went inside, Miriam turned to her daughter.

"You are like your father," she observed. "You get angry when you get worried or scared."

Shego tucked her lips into her mouth, her eyes hardened as she stared out.

"I'm am sure Dr. Drakken will be here soon. Fine," Miriam cooed.

Shego refrained from pointing out that if things were '_fine'_, Henry would still be with them. This situation was not typical and in no way fine.

It was another hour before a third vehicle appeared at the far entrance of the ranch. Again, Shego stiffened under Miriam, her eyes locking on the oncoming jeep. Shego rose to her feet as the transport came to a stop in front of the house. She fought to suppress the grin that wanted to spread across her face as Drakken exited the passenger door of the car.

A loud, excited screech took Shego aback, as did the sudden exhalation of oxygen from her lungs as Mrs. Lipsky lunged at the young woman, locking her stubby arms around her waist.

"Hey Mama Lipsky," Shego coughed, trying to pry the old woman off her.

"Have fun with that," Sutton muttered with a grin, as he went inside the house.

"Long flight?" Shego whispered back.

Sutton didn't answer verbally, but his blue eyes widened in a disbelieving, exasperated fashion that made her grin.

"I'm so excited!" Mrs. Lipsky cried shrilled, squeezing Shego closer.

For the first time in days, Miriam let out a light laugh watching her daughter struggle against the excitement of the other woman. The sound caught Mrs. Lipsky's attention and she finally released the young woman.

"Oh my. Where are my manners?" Drakken's mother chuckled as she approached Miriam. "I'm Claudia, Drewbie's mother."

Miriam took Claudia's pudgy hand, chuckling again. "It is nice to meet you. I'm Miriam. Saoirse's mom."

"Ooo," Claudia cooed, turning to Shego. "That's a pretty name."

Shego muttered a thank you and turned to Drakken, who was standing at her side.

"Any problems?" she whispered.

"In terms of Black Rabbit stuff, no," he answered in a hushed voice.

"What about in Ronan stuff? I'm assuming you already told her about you and I. If not, then we need to inform your mother about _boundaries._"

Drakken made a face.

"You didn't tell her yet?" Shego asked, straining to keep her voice hushed.

"Look, it was difficult enough to explain to her the career in villainy and why we needed to abduct her from home," Drakken retorted. "Luckily, I was able to soften the blow with telling her that I was finally in a relationship with a beautiful, smart – "

"Don't think sweet talking is going to get you help with telling your mother about your bastard offspring." Drakken frowned. Shego shook her head, "Sorry. I shouldn't have called Ronan that. But, seriously, you cannot put this off."

"I know. I know," Drakken sighed, looking at his feet.

"She's not here right now, so it might be easier."

"Where is she?"

"Kimmie called around one saying that her cousin was not with her uncle in Denver. Apparently she's still at their family ranch. Ronan and John-Paul went to go pick her up."

Drakken nodded, weighing the options in his head: would it be easier to tell his mother while Ronan wasn't around? She was a startling and coarse person, and perhaps informing his mother about her existence before actually meeting her Claudia could mentally prep herself.

"Hey Mama Lipsky," Shego called as Drakken got wrapped up in his head. Claudia and Miriam turned to look at the couple. "Drewbie here has something he wants to tell ya."

Drakken looked at Shego with disbelief, which quickly gave way to annoyance. "I hate you."

"I love you," Shego sang, pecking him on the cheek. Both she and Miriam went inside, leaving Drakken alone on the porch with his mother.

Claudia watched the door that Miriam and Shego had disappeared to for a moment before switching her gaze to her son. "What now?"

Yellow petals exploded from Drakken's neck. Angrily he ripped them away, scattering them beneath his feet. Irritation subsiding, he ran his hand through hair, sighing.

"Have a seat, mother," he said, stepping towards the chairs Shego and Miriam had been sitting in previously.

Claudia sat, watching her son with interest as he sat beside her.

"There's a little bit more to this whole story," Drakken began.

And so, he uneasily told his mother about his past relationship with Karen Anderson (who she would surely meet very shortly), how it hadn't worked out, and how she had left. Expectedly, she was not pleased with her son keeping this from her; she was even more displeased with the fact that Drakken had lived with this woman for a period of time. She knew what young couples that lived together _did_, but she did not ask for details. Thankfully.

Drakken moved on ahead to the morning Karen had walked back into his life. As he got closer to finally telling his mother about Ronan, he felt his jaw get tight, as if his own body was trying to stop him from telling his mother about her granddaughter. He was so fearful of what her reaction would be.

"The reason that Karen came to find me," Drakken said uneasily, "was because she wanted to tell me something."

"What did she want to tell you?" Claudia prompted.

Drakken took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "She wanted to tell me that, shortly after she left, she had a baby."

It took a moment for the news to register. Claudia's eyes widened behind her glasses, "What?"

"She had a baby," Drakken repeated. "My . . . baby."

"I don't believe this," Claudia muttered to herself.

"I'm sorry," was Drakken could think to say.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," his mother finally responded. "In this instance, at least. You didn't know – "

"Mother, you realize that Karen is somewhere in this house, along with several other people. I would greatly appreciate - as I'm sure everyone else will – if you were nice to her. She did what she thought was best. As a mother, I'm sure you can understand that."

Claudia nodded. "Boy or girl?" she asked.

Drakken grinned. He was surprised that his mother was taking this so well. "Girl. Her name is Ronan."

"Oh," his mother said. Claudia couldn't successfully mask her surprise and judgment of the girl's unusual name. "Is Ronan here?"

"Uh, no. Not at the moment. She's apparently out on another pick-up."

"Is she . . . part of the same group as Sutton?"

Drakken nodded, and continued with his explanation of how he came to be involved with the Syndicate, and how Ronan was involved. There were a couple of moments where Claudia gasped and asked more questions; particularly when it came to Ronan's academic achievements and her tendency to ride fast motorcycles.

The mother and son sat on the porch for a while longer, and talked more than they had in years.

* * *

_Great Falls, Montana_

_7:10 PM, Mountain Standard Time_

_June 4__th__, 2007_

After all the explanations were made and after all the guests were settled in, things began to become more comfortable around the Anderson ranch; in the sense that, everyone was thankful that they were all there safely.

Most of them, anyway. Ronan and John-Paul were not back yet with Joss. Margo and Rooke were successful in lulling everyone into a sense of security, insisting that the two agents would be back soon and unharmed.

However, they were not so sure themselves. It had been several hours since Ronan and John-Paul had left, and there had been no word.

No news is not always good news.

However, there was no need to cause undo panic. There was no need to further upset everyone; things had been rough enough.

Understandably, the Possible's were all on edge as they waited for their last family member to arrive. Karen was also uncomfortable as she waited for Ronan; her parents were still not pleased with her (not that they ever were) and now she was dealing with the scrutinizing glances of Claudia Lipsky. Drakken's mother was respecting her son's wishes of being nice to Karen, but she couldn't help but be angry with woman who had kept Ronan from the both of them.

At eight o'clock, the ranch house's front doors were thrown open so vigorously it was nearly taken off their hinges. Ronan came trudging into the hall, carrying Joss Possible in her arms. Ignoring everyone in the living room, tossed the young girl on the couch, turned, and headed back the way she came. Slim rushed over to the couch were Joss was and she threw her arms around her father. Her eyes were bloodshot with tears and her limbs were shaking.

"Ronan," Rooke called following her out of the room, accompanied by the rest of the Syndicate. Ronan ignored him.

"Ronan! Where are you going?" he called again.

"Where's JP?" Angela asked as she trotted alongside Rooke.

"I'm going back," Ronan finally answered. Her voice was shaking in anger.

"Where's John?" Angela questioned again. Her small voice was beginning to become frantic.

Ronan exited her grandparents' house and made for the very large transport she had arrived in. It fit the moniker 'Tank' very well, although it was not equipped with the long barrel of the traditional weapon. With two steps of her long legs, Ronan placed herself back cockpit of the vehicle.

"STOP!" Margo yelled from the top of the porch steps, loud enough to make all the orders and questions die down. Everyone turned to look at her.

Regaining her composure, Margo came down the steps.

"Were you followed or tracked?" she asked Ronan.

Gripping the tank's throttle and not looking at Margo, she quietly answered: "No."

"Then you did your job," Margo stated. "That's enough. Now come inside. We've lost enough."

Margo turned and headed back for the bright house. Rooke placed a comforting hand on Angela's shoulder as the reality of the situation sank into her. Releasing her, he followed his wife. Angela covered her face with her hands, and Derek pulled her into his chest as tears began to flow through her fingers.

Sutton stepped onto the tank and held on to its frame.

"You okay?" he asked. Ronan muttered something indiscernible, but didn't look at him. "It's not your fault." Ronan swallowed and looked at him.

"Come on," Sutton said softly, offering his hand.

The pair jumped down, and Sutton pulled Ronan into a tight hug. Initially stiff and hesitant, Ronan's arms were quick to mold around her boyfriend's frame. A cold wind blew around them, causing the couples to hold their partner closer.

There was a sudden commotion on the porch and the four agents looked up to find Rooke standing in the doorway.

"Come inside now," he ordered. "You need to see something."

* * *

**A/N: **As silly as this may sound: the only reason I killed off John-Paul is because of the death of Michael Clarke Ducan this past year. When I wrote the character, I wrote with MCD in mind. When he died this past September, it didn't seem appropriate to keep JP going. I know, it's silly . . . but it's how I felt.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please review.


	4. Lazy D Ranch

**A/N: **This is a chapter-ette, if you will. It is much, much, MUCH shorter than most of the chapters I write. I didn't want to include it in the last chapter, and it wouldn't have worked in the flow of the next. So enjoy.

Please read and review! I'm really happy that people are reading, but reviews are what really give me (and other authors) the gusto to continue writing.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Joss Possible or the Lazy D Ranch

* * *

The pick up had gone awry. The Rabbits had gotten there ahead of them, killed the family friend that was watching the ranch and Joss while Slim was away. Ronan and John-Paul showed up shortly after, leaving the tank at the tree line of the forest just off of the Lazy D Ranch.

There were five Rabbits. John-Paul took them on as Ronan serpentined around the house, looking for the fourteen-year-old. She found her held up in the cabinet under the sink, hiding behind the cleaning supplies.

Joss screamed as Ronan grabbed her by the neck the dragged her out of the space. This alerted the Rabbits to the kitchen. Ronan had her small Ruger tucked in her boot as usual, but it wouldn't be enough to stop five assailants. Making a split decision, she hauled Joss off her feet, threw her over her shoulder, and ran through the large glass window of the adjoining dining room.

The drop from the window to the ground was only ten feet, but Ronan felt her shoulder give an uncomfortable pop as she landed. Joss was up before her and made to run, but Ronan grabbed her ankle and brought her down.

"Don't run," Ronan hissed, "without me."

Joss struggled against the stranger's grip, legs and arms flailing. Giving a particularly feisty kick, Joss's foot smashed into Ronan's face. Ronan let go, her hands flying up to clutch her head protectively.

Seizing the moment, Joss scrambled to her feet and began to run. Her legs were shaking and she didn't get very far before Ronan hurled herself at the teen and tackled her to the ground.

"Stop . . . fighting," Ronan grunted, through swollen lips and blood. "I'm here to save you. Your cousin Kim sent me."

At once, Joss stopped trying to escape. "Prove it," Joss mumbled through grass and dust.

Ronan spat blood and dirt out of her mouth before saying: "I'm taking you to her right now. If you will stop fighting me."

"Who are you?"

"Kid, this isn't the time for pleasan-"

"_Who are you?"_

Ronan growled. "Name's Ronan."

"How do you know Kim?"

"It's complicated."

"That's not good enough," Joss spat, jabbing her elbow into Ronan's ribs.

It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to annoy. Gripping the girl's dark brown hair, Ronan held her face against the hard ground. Joss grunted and whimpered as gritty dirt and pebbles scratched her face.

"Listen," Ronan hissed dangerously, "I don't care what you think, but _I'm _not gonna kill you; the guys in your house will. So, you can either come with me and possibly die, or go back inside and definitely die. Whattaya wanna do?"

After a moment, Ronan felt Joss loosen under her grip - a gestures of cessation. Ronan got off the girl's back and onto her feet. Joss followed suit, wiping the gravel and tears off of her face. She looked up at her would-be protector, glaring.

Gunshots, yelling, and the breaking of furniture cued Ronan into action and she grabbed Joss's elbow and ran across the ranch. She didn't dare look back. Not yet. Making it to the tree line, Ronan steered the teen towards the tank, which was hidden a few yards into the brush. Almost carelessly, Ronan picked up and tossed Joss into the passenger seat of the vehicle.

"I'll be back," Ronan said as she buckled her assignment. "Wait here. Don't move. Don't make noise."

"Where are you going?"

"What the hell did I just say?"

Joss pursed her lips and sat back uneasily, as Ronan ran back towards the open fields of the ranch. She kept her eyes fixed on the glimmering lights of the house in the distance.

Just as she breached the tree line, the Lazy D Ranch House exploded. The sonic boom and burst of heat made Ronan skid to a stop and fall on her backside. Disbelieving, she sat amongst the tall grass, watching the house go up in flames. She didn't see anyone run from the structure, she hadn't heard anyone leave prior. As far as she knew all five of the Rabbits and John-Paul were – had – been inside when the bomb was detonated.

She couldn't stay around to look for bodies. She needed to get Joss to her grandparents. Ronan's mind urged her legs to pick themselves up, and slowly they did so. Forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the sight in front of her, she began to head back towards the tank.

Joss streaked past her. Her short legs running towards the stable set several yards from the house. It had not exploded, but chunks of flaming debris had crashed landed close enough to start a second blaze. From inside the structure, the ranch's horses were snorting and whinnying in fear.

"Hey!" Ronan yelled, chasing after her.

Joss was to slow and short to compete with the six-foot-plus Syndicate agent. Ronan reached out and hooked the girl around the waist.

"No! No! Stop!" Joss screamed as Ronan headed back towards the tree cover. "Please!"

"Get back in the tank!" Ronan ordered, throwing Joss into the trees. "I'll get the horses out."

Mentally cursing herself, Ronan sprinted toward the burning stable. Once inside, she went from stall to stall, opening the doors. A couple of the horses Ronan had to coax out, grabbing their bridles and pulling them towards the outdoor corral.

She managed to get all the animals out of the stables before the structure was so engulfed in flames that it was beginning to fall apart. The horses, now that they were out of their confined spaces, were stamping at the ground nervously; some reared up on their hind legs. Their fear permeated the air. The last thing Ronan did before running back to the trees was opening the corral gate, allowing the horses to run as far away from the fire as they wanted.

Dodging the galloping horses, Ronan sped back to the spot where she had left Joss. She was irritated to find the girl crouching in the spot where she had left her. Unwilling to start any verbal banter, Ronan simply grabbed Joss by her arm and led her back to the tank. She once again strapped the girl in, and then got into her own seat.

The tank was fast relative to its size. But speed was not its saving grace; it was its size and heavily amoured body. As Ronan drove away from the scene, she would periodically turn in her seat to watch the blaze of yellow and orange become smaller and smaller.

She was convinced now there had been no human survivors. If their had been, the Rabbits would've ambushed her in the stables. Or, John-Paul would've met her at the spot where they had parked the tank.

Next to her, Joss had resumed crying - blubbering into her hands and taking great gasping breaths. Ronan said nothing to her, keeping her eyes fixed on the road, waiting for the Anderson ranch to appear on the horizon.

* * *

**A/N: **Please leave a review on the way out :)


	5. Merry and Pippin's Idea

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. With this update, we're back with our usual 10+ pages. Keep a sharp eye out for the LOTR reference. Cookies for those who can find it :)

Please R&R! Have a great weekend everyone!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Kim Possible or any affiliated characters

* * *

When Ronan, Sutton, Derek and Angela walked back into the house, Rooke led them to the living room. Everyone was there – even the new company of Grandma Possible, Mrs. Lipsky, Slim and Joss – and everyone was quiet, enraptured by the scenes flickering across the Anderson's large television set.

It was live news coverage of some catastrophic event. The sky was dark with night and smoke. Shots of fire engines and firemen trying to extinguish blazes of fire were interspersed with other images of emergency vehicles, people crying on the curbs of broken sidewalks, bodies being carried away from wreckage on stretchers, and many other horrific sights. There was a wide shot that screened over a wide expanse of rubble and debris, the Chicago skyline just visible in the background.

"Go City's been taken out," Rooke explained in a hushed voice to his agents. "Middleton as well. They're switching between news stories at the moment."

"When did this happen?" Sutton asked.

"Around nine o'clock this evening Eastern Standard Time in Middleton, eight o'clock in Go City."

All four of the agents turned to look at Rooke.

"So, Cutting has at least two of whatever he used to destroy Chernobyl," Sutton filled in.

Rooke opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it and just nodded.

After that, no one spoke; they just watched the events unfold. The epicenter of the attack on Go City had occurred near the Go Tower, creating such a sonic disturbance that the entirety of New and Old Go City were lost in a large sink whole. The quake stretched just passed the city limits, taking Go Park with it.

The starting point for the attack on Middleton was less obvious, but it left an equally devastating wake. Everything of Kim and Ron's hometown was gone; the damage so advanced and complete that even the outskirts of Lowerton and Upperton had been obliterated.

There was no body count yet for either area, but it would only be a matter of time. Kim tried several times to contact Wade, but she wasn't able to get through. James and Ann held their boys tight as they watched, scarcely daring to think 'what if'. Slim sat near his brother, he and his mother still trying to calm Joss down. Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable sat very close to each other; cradling Hana who was fast asleep and oblivious. Ron gripped Kim's shoulder as she once again tried to fiddle with the Kimmunicator.

Miriam, who had been doing very well that day, was once again drawn into herself as she watched her home burn and sink away. It was dreadfully familiar. Jay kept his eyes averted from the screen, trying to appear preoccupied with a fuzz on the couch's arm. The twins sat on the floor, each pair of knees pulled into their chests. They're eyes were wide and mouths agape. Mel had taken up Shego's role and sat diligently next to his mother, holding her arm.

Although, Shego was close at hand, standing just behind her parents, Drakken at her side, Claudia at his. Shego watched the sight in front of her with a mystified detachment. Drakken was the only one who noticed the glow of rage behind her green eyes. Next to him, his mother clung to the shirt he was wearing. Sighing internally, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Behind them all, Karen and her parents stood, watching the sight in front of them.

* * *

It was late. Nearly two o'clock in the morning. The coverage of the attacks on Go City and Middleton began to reach a plateau about an hour after they started up. Certainly, developments of casualties, missing persons, and extent of damages was updated frequently, but the group at the Anderson Ranch understood the gist of the aggression.

Not only was the destruction of two metropolitan areas a demonstration of Cutting's power, but it was also a punishment; a penalty for stealing four of his would-be possessions, and a long-time coming consequence of Miriam escaping from Leiriakkesh.

Thus far, twenty-one bodies had been pulled from Go City, sixteen from Middleton. No names had been released, and it killed Kim. Every time she tried to goad the Kimmunicator into working, she was presented with a snowy screen. She was alone in the Anderson's library, so she felt no shame in yelling wildly and throwing the device against the wall.

"Do you want help?" a meek voice asked.

Kim jumped. She _thought_ she had been alone. She spun around to see Angela standing in the doorway, her gloves in hand. Kim ran a hand through her hair, nodding. As Angela put on the gloves and set up her hovering screens, Kim fetched the Kimmunicator from the floor.

Standing behind the tiny girl, Kim watched as her petite fingers flew across the transparent keyboard and screens. A very official webpage appeared, a list of names lining it.

"These are the dead so far," Angela explained. "Right column is Middleton, left is Go City. They are sure to get bigger."

"Where did you get this?" Kim questioned as her eyes flew down the Middleton list. She didn't see the names of anyone she knew. She read it twice more just to be sure.

"I hacked into the files of Homeland Security. They are usually the first to get access to this kind of information."

Kim let out a breathy, relieved sigh. "Thank you."

"Yeah."

Kim broke her eyes away from the screen to look at Angela's profile. Her eyes were still red, face still puffy, and tear tracks were evident on her cheeks. Kim felt sorry for her – and the rest of the Syndicate for that matter. She felt like she should do something to comfort her, but Kim wasn't especially close with her and she felt like it would be a trying gesture to go in for a hug.

"I'm sorry," she finally decided to say.

Angela turned in her seat, fixing her cornflower eyes on Kim. The rosy bud that was her mouth twitched as she thought about what to say in response.

"Thank you," Angela hoarsely accepted. There was a pause before she cleared her throat and said, "Let me try getting a hold of Wade."

A small, grateful smile curled the corners of Kim's mouth and she took a seat next to the other girl.

Somehow Angela was able to patch through to Wade's end of the Kimmunicator. Kim yelled for Ron, and her boyfriend came tearing into the room.

"We got Wade!" Kim cried excitedly. Rufus clambered out of Ron's pocket, perched on his shoulder and wagged his stubby tail happily.

Ron took the third cushion of the couch Kim and Angela sat on and began asking questions.

Wade and his family were fine; rattled but fine. He said he had seen Mr. Barkin helping firemen clear debris – so he was all right. However, he hadn't seen Monique, Bonnie, Felix or any other friends.

When questioned about the attack itself, Wade was lost for words.

"I don't know," he admitted. "About ten minutes before things started to go bad, there was this great big _boom._ We all felt it. Everything shook for a couple minutes, even light poles on the street. Then there were a lot of smaller tremors as streets began to crack apart. Houses sank, buildings collapsed. It's hard to say where it started."

After that, Kim and Ron let Wade get back to his family. He promised to let them know if he found out anything on his end. Kim and Ron promised the same.

* * *

It was late. He should've been in bed, but Drakken found himself sitting on the porch steps all the same. His mother went to bed shortly after watching the news. She would've preferred to meet Ronan, but she was led away by Margo to clean up her face. He didn't know what had happened during the pick-up – besides losing John-Paul. It clearly had not gone as smoothly as the rest of them; old injuries from the motorcycle accident were reopened and a red scuff had appeared across her nose and a large bruise bloomed across her cheek.

And so Claudia Lipsky went to bed. The Possibles and Stoppables followed suit shortly after. Joss had finally cried herself to sleep, and her father carried her upstairs. The Gordons were next. Save for Shego.

Shego was . . . somewhere in the house. After being struck with the news of her hometown's destruction, she disappeared to one of the many of the rooms in the Anderson's ridiculously large summer home. Drakken had known her long enough to know that the particular kind of anger boiling through her veins was reason enough to leave her be.

Then Karen's parents retired. He hadn't actually spoken to either Victoria or Edwin; he had made no effort and neither had they. They watched each other cautiously and with begrudging interest from across the rooms they occupied, but never spoke.

Drakken had known Karen's parents were extremely well off. He hadn't realized just how wealthy they were until he arrived at the ranch house. This was their _summer home._ They had another house in Connecticut – the one Karen had run away from. From the past descriptions he had heard of it, that house was the same size, if not larger, than the ranch homestead.

For the first time, he considered how miserable Karen must of felt growing up in an environment such as this. He had gotten to know her very well when they had lived together, and she did not at all match the world she was born into.

Drakken knew Karen to be free, independent, somewhat bohemian. There were a number of pictures of Karen as a youth and teen scattered around the house. In many of them she was suffocated in traditional hoity-toity-types of garb: lacey 'coming out' gowns of brilliant white, starchy horse riding uniforms, and stiff cocktail dresses.

Knowing her, he could understand why she ran away.

As if she knew he was thinking about her, Karen came out on to the porch, two steaming mugs in hand. Carefully, she sat on the step next to Drakken.

"Here," she grunted, handing him a mug.

Surprised, Drakken took it. He looked into its contents; it was too dark to be sure, but it was some thin, hot liquid that smelled vaguely of lemons and tea. A hot toddy, he figured.

"Er – thanks," he stammered. "I'm usually not the biggest fan of hot – " Karen cut him off, pulling a small flask out of her cardigan pocket. "Okay then," Drakken back peddled, holding his mug out.

"One of the few good things about have rich, stuck-up parents," Karen said. "Top shelf liquor."

Karen poured a little more than a shot into his receptacle, then hers. She spun the cap back on the flask and pocketed it.

"Cheers," Karen muttered, gently knocking her glass against Drakken's.

The pair sat in silence for a while, sipping carefully at their steamy beverages, watching the starry night. It was amazingly peaceful considering how other parts of the country were being devastated.

"What're you gonna do next?" Karen asked suddenly.

"Saoirse wants to follow the Syndicate."

"And you?"

Drakken thought before answering. "Honestly, I'm not _thrilled_ about the prospect of working alongside Kim Possible and the buffoon again. Nor am I pleased with the idea of working to save the world for a second time. But I will follow Saoirse."

Drakken smirked in spite of himself.

"When did I become the sidekick?" he muttered under his breath.

"Maybe the UN will give you another medal if you do," Karen said off-handedly, taking a large gulp of her drink. "Maybe it'll be enough to absolve you of your future bad behavior," she coughed.

Drakken began to pat Karen vigorously on the back in an attempt to help her through the coughing fit. When it passed, he used both hands to hold tightly to his mug. He took a sip, careful not to take too much.

"What about you?" Drakken asked after swallowing. "What will you do now?"

Karen shrugged. "I suppose I'll be quarantined here with the Possibles, Stoppables, Gordons and your mother. And my parents," she added. Internally, she cringed. That living situation sounded horrendous.

"I don't have any skills that would be useful. I don't have superpowers," she shot a look at Drakken. "I don't know how to fight. I'm not smart. I'd a burden more than anything. Besides, I don't think Ronan would want me to tag along."

Drakken debated whether or not he should say something comforting to her. Something about her not being a burden. But he felt strange trying to console her, so he took another sip of toddy.

Silence befell the pair again. Karen finished her drink and placed the mug at her side. She gripped the lip of the steps with her hands and leaned forward, staring out across the dark expanse in front of them. Drakken continued to nurse his drink, also looking out at the night. He could've sworn that he saw Karen's mouth twitch several times out of the corner of his eye; as if she had something to say, but couldn't work up the courage. But it was dark, so he couldn't be sure.

"Do you think we could've made it?"

The question came out of nowhere and nearly caused Drakken to spill the remainder of his toddy in his lap.

"What?" he sputtered, licking the side of the mug where some of the beverage had spilled out.

"If things had been different, if they had unfolded in a different way," Karen stated slowly, "do you think we could've made it?"

Drakken stared at her, sure if he had misunderstood the question. But it was fairly straightforward. He didn't understand why she asked it now, or at all. His mouth went dry as he tried to think of what to say.

"I – I dunno," he whispered, licking his lips. He paused, looking at his feet. "I don't think so. No," he finally answered.

Karen smirked at his answer, but he wasn't entirely certain she was satisfied with it. Drakken hoped that the uncomfortable sensation he felt on his skin was just the cool, mountain air. But when he and Karen went back inside it was still there.

Karen took the empty mug from his hands and headed for the kitchen. She walked through the airy grand hall to get there, and saw Ronan sprawled across one of the couches, Turtle tucked under her arm, both asleep. Karen grinned; the couch wasn't quite long enough for her daughter, and Ronan's arms and feet hung off the furniture at odd angles. Karen set the two mugs on an end table and grabbed a large afghan from the nearest chair. Shaking it open, she carefully covered Ronan with it. Grabbing the mugs once again, Karen disappeared into the kitchen.

Drakken remained in the front hall, still trying to understand Karen's question. His eyes fell on the blanketed mound. Uneasily, he walked over to the couch, sitting down in the chair nearest to it. Through the crumpled blanket and big cushions, Drakken could make out one side of Ronan's looked strangely peaceful as she slept.

The blanket was tucked up to her mouth, causing her breathing to be falsely ragged. Drakken reach out a hand to adjust it, but then thought better of it. He got up and left the room.

He traveled upstairs to the third floor bedroom that had been designated for Shego and himself. The room was empty, but the adjoining bathroom was alight. He knocked on the door gently before opening it, finding Shego sitting on the lidded toilet, her head in her hands. She looked up as he entered.

"Hey," she muttered.

"Hey," Drakken answered back. "Are you okay?"

Shego dropped her hands to her sides and sat up straight, a strained smile pulling at her mouth. "No."

* * *

Karen placed the two mugs in the large kitchen sink. She paused for a moment, gripping the counter top thoughtfully. She supposed she should go to bed, but she knew she wouldn't sleep.

Instead, she made for the back door. She put on a pair of thick rubber boots and a beanie, and grabbed an electric lantern hanging on a peg by the jamb. She quietly open and closed the door and stole away into the black.

She was a few steps away from the house when she turned the lantern on and pointed it towards her parent's stables. A chilly breeze encouraged her to pick up her pace.

The stables were warm and musty. They smelled of hay and apples. _This_ was the one perk of coming from an elitist family, Karen thought. The horses. She loved them. Loved riding them, loved being with them. Growing up, her parents insisted on her directing her passion for the animal into Eventing and Dressage. The sports were fine, but she much preferred simply going for a nice long ride, one with no particular goal in mind.

Peeking into the nearest stall, Karen saw one of the mares, a brown thoroughbred with white stockings. Karen opened the stall door and stepped in. The mare eyed her before stretching her neck forward, using her velvet lips to grope at Karen's cardigan.

"I didn't bring anything," Karen chuckled softly. She ran her hand along the length of the horse's head, scratching delicately at the horse's soft nose. She placed a kiss on the mare's long snout before the horse turned back to her food trough.

Karen backed herself against the stall wall, clearing some of the straw beneath her feet, before sliding down into a sitting position. She set the lantern next to her and went to dim it when something caught her eye.

Looking across the space, huddled near the mare's legs, was a foal. It couldn't have been more than a couple days old. From what Karen could see, it was entirely black; its short mane irregular tufts of spiky hair. Unsteadily, the foal got onto its new too-long legs and stumbled over to stand nearer to its mother.

Karen stayed in the stable. Eventually, the foal worked up the courage to stagger over and lie next to her. She rested her head in Karen's lap, and it wasn't long until both were asleep.

* * *

Kim hadn't slept, and by the time five o'clock in the morning rolled around she decided to just give up and get out of bed.

Throughout the night, she had been repeatedly checking the Kimmunicator to see if Wade had tried calling with any news. He hadn't. When she wasn't checking the device, she thought on Hego's murder, the decimation of Middleton, Go City, and Chernobyl, and the sabotage at Global Justice. She thought about her discussion with Ronan at Hego's funeral. The more her mind raced, the more an unfamiliar anger clawed at her insides.

She had been angry before, of course, at the actions of her foes; Drakken, in particular, had hit a new low with the synthodrone Eric and the Lil' Diablo scheme. She didn't think she could get more furious than that. Now, she was being proven wrong.

Cutting had no personal vendetta against her, and yet he had destroyed her home, possibly killed some of her close friends. He had tried to kill her cousin – and her uncle if Slim had been there. His actions had been more personal than any that Drakken or any of her other foes had tried to dole out.

Then there was Anya – the snake, his rat. His pet. The liar. The saboteur. The murderer.

Kim exhaled a shaky breath through her nose, trying to contain the mounting rage within her. She wanted to do something.

For the first time, she wanted to get even.

The idea made her uncomfortable. Justice was not equitable to revenge. Kim had always fought for fairness, and now she was teetering on the brink of payback. She was starting to understand the Syndicate's reasoning for their methodology. Although, Kim was certain that (hoping, anyway) that the feeling was fleeting; that she would come back to her senses.

That didn't quell the concept that they needed to decide what to do in order to stop the Black Rabbits. The enemy was moving quickly, and they were no nearer to understanding how Cutting was taking out entire cities or where Vrishkov was being held. Perhaps they needed to take the fight to Cutting; hit him where he wouldn't expect it.

At once, Kim darted out of her room, going in search of Rooke and Margo. She took the stairs two at a time as she headed downstairs. So intent was Kim on finding the Syndicate leaders, that she nearly walked head first into Shego.

"Hey!" the older woman cried as Kim knocked shoulders with her.

"Oh. Sorry," Kim muttered distractedly.

"Looking for Rooke and Aunt Margo?"

"Yeah, actually," Kim said, surprised.

"Me too," Shego responded, following Kim through the house.

The pair eventually found the couple in a small den. Angela was there as well, having fallen asleep in the large leather recliner. Margo sat rigidly in the wooden desk chair, her blue eyes red-rimmed and tired. The sight took Kim by surprise; Margo had always seemed unusually stoic and void of any serious emotion. Probably a useful defense mechanism for a psychiatrist. But, Kim realized, that she had lost someone who she considered family – someone she might've considered another adoptive son – and that, even the most withstanding of facades, was unlikely to surpress that kind of loss.

Rooke turned to face them as they entered the room. "Good morning, ladies."

Behind him, a small television flickered with some news story. Kim didn't pay any particular attention to it, nor did Shego.

"What do we do now?" Shego questioned, her voice low and steady.

Rooke fixed her with a blasé look and returned his attention the TV. Both Kim and Shego took a few steps further into the room to see what he was watching. It was a United States Press Conference. Vice President Petterson was at the podium speaking to the reporters. He finished with the questions and introduced President Heath.

Heath entered from the right wing, shook hands with Petterson and came to stand in front of the USA emblem. He glanced down at the podium, cleared his throat and brought his eyes to the camera.

"Good morning. Yesterday, televisions were ablaze with images of fire, destruction, and fear. Yesterday, this great nation lost two great cities and several innocent citizens. The peoples of Go City, Illinois and Middleton, Pennsylvania have been attacked, stripped of their homes, their family and possessions. These attacks of mass destruction and of mass murder were intended to threaten our freedom, our way of life. To send us into panic and chaos.

"But the culprits behind these acts of terror have failed. For our nation is strong and unwavering. A terrorist attack may shake our buildings and agitate our citizens, but it will not touch the foundation America is built on. We were targeted because we are the best and brightest nation. They think if they take us down, they will be able to take anyone down.

"But they will not take America down. They _cannot_ take America down. We have defended our liberty with great ferocity in the past and we will do it again. Those responsible for the destruction of Go City and Middleton will be met with decisive and swift justice. We will not stand idle. We will defend this great nation and our way of life."

Heath ended his speech with an encouraging nod at the camera. His didn't remain at the podium for questioning. Instead he left the stage. Joseph Randall was next to take the stage for questions, although, Rooke did not seem as intent on hearing him as he turned to face Kim and Shego once more.

"Now," he said, "what can I help you ladies with?"

* * *

Claudia Lipsky did not sleep well, what with the jet lag, confusion, her son coming out to her as a former villain and a father, and the news of the two terrorist attacks. That, and the bed that had been provided for her was rather hard.

She grabbed her glasses from the nightstand and climbed out of bed. Immediately, she was agitated that she did not have a change of clothes and had to wear what she arrived in the day before. Looking into the vanity mirror, Claudia patted her hair back into place and ventured out of the room.

She was surprised at how quiet the house was, considering how many people were occupying it at the moment; even the baby she had seen last night was not to be heard. She delicately padded her way down the wood halls and stairs, trying to find her son. In the back of her mind, she hoped that he and Sur . . . Sore . . . whatever Shego's actual name was had not spent the night together. Even though Drew had already 'shacked up' while unmarried, she hoped he would still uphold some semblance of modesty.

Claudia was about to call out for her son as she entered the kitchen, but stopped as she saw the lanky girl Drew had pointed out as his daughter, her granddaughter. She was sitting at the tall center counter, shoulders hunched over, head resting in her tattooed hands. In front of her, a large cat was sitting regally, his tail gracefully twisting across the marble surface of the counter. Both the cat and the girl looked over as Claudia entered the room.

The older woman hesitated in her voice and gait as she took in the sight of the granddaughter she never knew. Admittedly, she was not expected, what with the Mohawk, tattoos, and piercings. Not to mention, the sore and battered appearance of her face.

"Good morning," Claudia chirped pleasantly, approaching the counter.

As she neared, she was able to make out the font on Ronan's old shirt: _Fuck you._ She tried not to stare or appear disgusted.

Ronan muttered something as she ran her long fingers through Turtle's long fur. Claudia frowned.

"I'm your grandmother," she tried again.

"I know."

This time, Ronan's eyes flicked up to lock with Claudia's. For a moment, the older woman was lost for words. Her granddaughter's gaze was unsettling, and she almost apologized for bothering her.

"I was surprised to hear about you," Claudia continued awkwardly. "But I'm glad your mother told Drewbie about you. I've always wanted a grandchild. It's _Ronan_, isn't it?"

Ronan smirked, "Yeah."

She was shocked when Claudia reached across the counter and caressed her face with her pudgy hand. "You look so like Drew."

Ronan pulled her face away from her grandmother's touch. "I've been told."

"Drew was telling me that you quite the little inventor. Like father, like daughter!"

"Yes. Listen – "

"Graduating from MIT with honors when you were eighteen!"

"Look, lady," Ronan rasped, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I've had a really rough few days. If you don't mind, I would very much like to be alone with Turtle here."

The cat twisted his head to look at Claudia. His eyes were eerily similar to Ronan's in color. He licked his lips and turned his attention back to the girl stroking his chest.

Claudia drew her lips in tight, her shoulders tensing. She didn't take lightly to rudeness, especially from youg'ins. They should respect their elders! Particularly when that elder was a grandparent. She was about to tell Ronan so when she remembered what might've put her in such a defensive mood.

Loosening up, Claudia said: "I'm sorry about your friend. I wish I was able to meet him."

Ronan turned her attention from Turtle again. "Thank you. He was a good guy."

There was what Claudia considered to be an awkward pause between them, so she interrupted the silence again. "Can I get you some breakfast?" Mentally, she winced. It was a silly question to ask when she wasn't in her own home.

"I'm good."

"Are you sure? You're pretty much wasting away sitting there," Claudia urged, eying Ronan's prominent collarbones and boney arms.

"Yes."

Claudia nodded absently, looking around the large kitchen. She wished Drew were there to make things less tense. She found herself unable to stay quiet despite Ronan's request.

"May I ask what happened to your face?" she cautiously asked.

Ronan sighed heavily. She clearly was not going to get out of talking with this woman. She was too exhausted to be overly mean and acerbic, so she gave in.

"I had a motorcycle accident a few days ago. It's actually a lot better than it was. Margo brought this weird super strength salve with her from home, and it's clearing up pretty well."

It was true. Along with bringing Ronan a change of clothes to Washington DC, Margo had also brought an off-the-market ointment that was capable of healing wounds at an accelerated rate. Within the last few days, the skin that had been rubbed raw had regenerated, and was now a faded pink. The whites of her eyes were no longer hemorrhaged with blood. Her ear was also nearly healed, although it would never be restored to its original form.

"This," Ronan pointed to the scrape on her nose and the bruise on her cheek, "happened yesterday. Possible's cousin kicked me in the face."

"Oh my," Claudia gasped. "Are you okay?"

"I've had worse," Ronan mumbled, shrugging one shoulder.

Claudia reached across the table and grasped her hand. "I'm glad you're okay," she whispered.

Ronan looked at the hand on hers and then at the other woman. Her expression was bland, but she was surprised by the woman's actions. She could see where her father got his pension for being pushy and uncontrollably loquacious.

It still mystified her that Drakken, and now his mother, was so intent on getting to know her. They weren't deterred by her off-putting appearance or hostile attitude, and it vexed her. She put that stuff up for a reason, dammit!

Ronan sighed internally, and decided to amuse the old woman. She asked Claudia to fix her black coffee, and her grandmother was delighted to do so.

* * *

At 7:30, Karen came staggering into the kitchen, pulling hay out of her clothes. She greeted Ronan and bashfully acknowledged Claudia. Straightening her glasses, Claudia could see that while Ronan looked a great deal like her Drewbie, she couldn't deny the features that Karen had given her. She was a perfect meld of the two.

Remembering Drew's request, Claudia was hospitable and offered Karen coffee, which she politely accepted. Slowly, more people meandered into the kitchen. When Drakken finally entered he was surprised to see his mother, Karen, and Ronan all in the same room. Initially, his heart seized with fear and then relaxed as he realized that the ladies were being reasonably civil towards one another – even Ronan.

When Victoria and Edwin finally came downstairs, they insisted that everyone retire to the dining for breakfast, instead of eating in the kitchen. The dining room table wasn't quite large enough for all the guests – even with Kim, Shego, Margo, and Rooke missing – but they managed to squeeze enough chairs around to accommodate. Karen couldn't tell if her parents did it on purpose, but she Ronan, and Drakken sat next to each other, shoulder to shoulder.

Before breakfast was brought out, the four missing guests came stepping into the dining hall. Victoria and Edwin greeted them, but everyone else watched them carefully, wondering if they came with any news or decisions.

"Morning," Rooke replied to the Andersons. He turned his attention to the rest of the table. "Kim and Shego have approached me with an interesting idea."

He stepped aside, allowing Kim to carefully step forward. She licked her lips before saying: "In light of recent events, I think we should take the fight to Cutting."

"What do you mean, KP?" Ron asked, getting up from his chair.

"We should hit him where it hurts," Shego stated, her eyes looking up and down the long table. "We should take this to Leiriakkesh."

A murmur fluttered around the table. Miriam gawked at her daughter, gripping at her husband's shoulder.

"Why should we go into enemy territory?" Derek asked. "Cutting isn't gonna destroyed his baby. Leiriakkesh is no more danger than it already is."

"Because he won't expect it," Kim answered. "The closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm."

Derek snorted in disbelief, agitatedly leaning back in his chair.

"I think Merry and Pippin have a point," Ronan voiced, leaning forward on her elbows. "Cutting won't expect us to take him on at his home base."

"We may even be able to persuade the Palms to help us," Sutton added.

Kim was about to ask whom Sutton was referring to when the Kimmunicator on her wrist beeped. Excitedly, she turned it on.

"Wade?"

"Hey Kim," the teen said somberly.

"How's it going? Have you seen anyone else?" Kim was so thrilled that Wade called that she could hardly contain herself or her questions.

"Er – yeah. Monique, Felix, and Zita are all fine. Their families too."

"Boo yah!" Ron cried, fist pumping into the air.

"Kim," Wade said firmly, trying to grasp her attention.

"What is it, Wade?"

"Have you watched the news recently?"

"I saw President Heath's address, if that's what you mean."

"It's not."

Kim's face fell, her stomach plummeted. Turning on her heel, she headed for the den again. In a cacophony of chairs scraping the floor, everyone leapt to their feet and followed her out of the dining room. They all rushed into the den just as Kim turned on the television. The screen lit up with the news channel that Rooke had previously been watching.

The station had moved from the terrorist attacks on Go City and Middleton. The breaking news now concerned the assassination of President Heath and Secretary-General Bur-Whazahm.

* * *

**A/N: **Yay for LOTR references! Please leave a review :)


	6. The Invitation

**A/N: **I'm alive!

I am sorry that I took so long to update, but (as I said in my previous notes) I have started a full-time internship and it requires a great deal of my attention. I will hopefully start chapter 6 later this week, but I can't say when that will be up.

I hope you find this installment satisfying. Please read and review!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Kim Possible or any affiliated characters or locations

* * *

Cutting leaned back in the large leather chair. His legs twitched as he thought about lifting them to rest on his desk, but then decided against it. Instead he just crossed them, drumming his fingers on the chair's arm.

The office was dark, as was the rest of the island of Sardinia. It generally was at four o'clock in the morning. Yet, Cutting was up all the same. His eyes fell on his desk phone, willing it to ring. The contraption remained silent. He sighed.

"Lucas," came a tired mew at the door, "come back to bed."

It was Anya. She was leaning against the office's doorframe, draped in a large button-up shirt – however, she made no use of the buttons.

"In a bit, my dear," Cutting replied. "I'm waiting for Brotherson to return my call."

Anya sauntered lazily into the room. "You called just before ten. You know he is not one to return calls right away."

"I think he might."

"What did you tell him?" Anya asked, coming around to Cutting's side of the desk and leaning on it.

"Only what he needs to know," he said, his fingertips running up and down Anya's bare thigh. "I just wanted to be sure that he's on board."

"What about Hench?"

Cutting smirked. "He has played quite an indirectly pivotal role, hasn't he? That reminds me," he gasped, sitting up, "we need to provide the factory manager his payment."

"It would be prudent," Anya agreed. "Make sure he keeps his mouth shut."

"One thing I admire about Jack Hench," Cutting commented, scribbling a note to himself, "is his choice of factory setting and employee selection: China, and most of the workers don't know English from French."

"And those that do are easily silenced with a week's worth of rice."

"Right you are," Cutting chuckled. "Possibly the easiest infiltration we've ever done. Not to mention the cheapest."

"May I ask what you are planning on doing with the cube's replica once you have it?"

"Make our presence known," Cutting answered simply. "And inadvertently punish the Syndicate and the Gordon's for evading us."

Before Anya could speak, the desk phone rang. Cutting's hand shot forward and grabbed the receiver, bringing it to his ear.

"Cutting."

"Hello, Lucas," came the blasé baritone on the other end. "You rang?"

"I did BD. How is the criminal underworld?"

Brotherson chuckled. "_You_ have to ask?"

"Unfortunately, I am not always able to be as up-to-date as I would like to be."

"Mm-Hmm," Brotherson hummed into the phone. "What do you need, Lucas? You never call unless you have a proposition or a favor to ask."

"You know me too well, BD," Cutting said sweetly. "Actually, I do have a favor to ask."

"What is it?" Brotherson prompted when Cutting fell silent.

"I would like you to through a party."

"You want me to through a party," Brotherson repeated.

"Yes. At the Bermuda Triangle. Invite everyone, all of the villain community," Cutting exclaimed.

There was a pause on the line before Brotherson questioned, "Why?"

"I have a business proposition," Cutting stated simply. "One that I think you and many other nefarious types will be intrigued by."

"What's the proposition?"

"Tut-tut, BD," Cutting playfully scolded. "No sneak peeks. Not even for you. Trust me it's worth it." Silence once again fell between the two men, so Cutting added, "When have I ever asked for a favor and have not made it worth your while?"

"Fine," Brotherson conceded. "When were you thinking for this party?"

"As soon as possible, really."

"Did you really want _all _of the villainous community there, Lucas? There are some villains that are a little slow paced for you and I."

"Let us not be prejudiced, BD," Cutting insisted. "Invite as many people as you can, chances are some won't make it or come, and that will be a pity for them."

Brotherson sighed heavily, "Alright."

"Oh. And BD," Cutting said, as though suddenly remembering, "are you still on business terms with a gentleman named Stephen Rooke?"

"I am," Brotherson answered. "I haven't spoken with him or his wife in quite some time. Why? What is your relationship with them?"

"I don't have much of one, actually. We are aware of each other and have mutual friends, but no direct ties."

"What of them then?"

"Invite them as well," Cutting ordered. "Even though I do not know Stephen Rooke personally, I believe what I have to offer will be of interest to him, too."

"Alright," Brotherson sighed, "I'll get in touch with him."

"One more thing before I let you go, BD."

"What is it?"

"I know this seems odd in light of the recent circumstances," Cutting led in, "but invite Dr. Drakken and his assistant, Shego."

Silence fell over the line.

"Are you sure?" Brotherson asked in an exasperated tone. "Drakken was never much of a villain, and now with this whole saving the world bit he did I find it unlikely that he will be of any further importance."

"I still have faith in him," Cutting replied.

"Very well, I will send for them."

"Thank you, BD."

"Will this Thursday be early enough for you?" Brotherson asked. "That's a few days from now."

"That sounds perfect," and Cutting hung up the phone.

"So?" Anya pressed.

"This Thursday we will throw a shin-dig at the Bermuda Triangle."

"Why did you invite Rooke and the doctor?"

"Because I like to play with them," Cutting replied softly.

Above them, a low moan rumbled, followed by coughing dry sobs of Vrishkov. Cutting looked up at the ceiling with bored annoyance.

"He's not improving," Anya said, her eyes looking up as well.

"I know," Cutting sighed. "Unfortunately, he has not outgrown his usefulness."

"There's only so much morphine we can give him. We give him much more, he'll go into a coma."

"Or die," Cutting added, eyes still on the ceiling. He pursed his lips and voiced a possible solution. "We could send him to Leiriakkesh, to the hospital there in Tzikistan. They could give him Red Thistle, since we can't get it sent this way. It would help more than the pharmaceuticals here, and I would get some peace from his constant whining."

"It is a possibility," Anya agreed. "How are you going to hand him over to the Anarchists without the Red Palms finding out?"

"We'll stage a decoy. Let it slip past the rebel lines about Vrishkov's transfer. While they're preoccupied with that, we will fly him into Dushanbe a few days after; when he's well enough to travel great distances. He'll be sent to Tzikistan from there."

Anya nodded, and then rounded Cutting's chair. She slipped her arms around his shoulders and rested her head against his. Cutting reached up and held her hands that were clasped at his chest.

"Come to bed," she blew into his ear.

Finally, Cutting heeded her request and followed Anya back to their room.

* * *

JR sat in the back seat of the old truck, swaying back and forth with the rhythm of the rocky road. Three other of Cutting's Rabbits were in the vehicle with him. He didn't know their names and didn't care to.

At the moment, they were driving along a barely passable road just outside the anarchist border of the Leirian province; just to the east lay the country of Uzbekistan. Cutting had given them no details as to their mission beyond arriving to the gate of Baboul, the entrance to Tzikistan, the unofficial capital of Leiriakkesh. Apparently, they would receive more instructions once they arrived.

JR hated missions to Leiriakkesh. He had only ever been to the province twice before and it was an unnecessarily dangerous and abhorred place. While the 'Anarchists' were loyal to Cutting, it didn't stop them from killing or beating lesser Rabbits they didn't care for.

Besides that, there was also the rebel group – The Red Palms – to worry about. While there location was ultimately unknown, the Black Rabbits were reasonably certain that their headquarters lie just west in the no-man's-land strip of mountains and forest that barricaded Leiriakkesh from its country of origin, Tajikistan.

JR sighed under his breath and leaned back into the crackled vinyl of the seat, gripping the semiautomatic in his hands a little more tightly. The Rabbit sitting next to him casually glanced at his hands and back out the window.

The ride was silent until the Rabbit driving sat up in his chair and said, "What's that up there?"

The rest of the truck's passengers sat up and peered out the windows at what the first had referred to. About a quarter mile up the road there was a figure standing on a large boulder that was planted right in the middle of the path.

"Shit," the driver muttered under his breath, adjusting the stick of the vehicle. The truck jerked and clanged until it began to slow.

The truck came to a complete stop about twenty feet from the boulder. JR leaned forward in his seat, peering through the windshield to get a better look at the man standing atop the large rock.

The man was of average height and muscular build. His clothes were dusty gray and khaki, better for blending in with the muted background of the forest. He wore a thick belt laden with broad hunting knives. A long rifle was resting across his shoulders, his hands lazily hanging on either end. His dusty brown hair was cut neatly, but his wild beard stood out from his jaw in tangles. Across the breast pocket of the vest he wore, there was a smear of dried red paint in the shape of a hand. JR couldn't be sure, but it looked as though the man was smiling.

The driver leaned back across the console, fetching a sawed off shotgun from behind the passenger seat. He shoved the truck door open and stood behind it.

"Toll," cried the man on the boulder. His voice was resonate and thick with a Scottish brogue.

"You a Red?" the driver asked gruffly. His finger slid past his weapon's safety, flicking it off.

The boulder man looked down at his painted pocket and laughed. "You a Black?"

The driver went to raise his shotgun, but he had barely lifted it when a shot rang out and blood splattered the windshield. The driver fell over, quite dead as half his face was missing. The three remaining men in the truck scrambled for there own weapons. However, before any of them were able to look for the marksmen that had taken out their driver, a thick, white smoke began to twist its way into the truck. It was so thick that none of the Rabbits were able to see their noses, much less outside of the vehicle's windows.

JR was about to fumble for the truck's door when it was wrenched open and he was pulled from his seat. The semiautomatic was hit out of his hands and someone punched him in the stomach. Hard. He doubled over, gasping for air. Someone held his arms behind his back, making him stand up right. His holder turned him around and pushed him forward, making him step blindly through the fog.

The attacker led him up a steep grade. JR tripped over rocks and roots, as the smoke was still impossibly thick. It began to thin as he was led over the crest of the hill and down into a small, dry reservoir. As the smoke lessened, he was able to make out silhouettes standing in the base of the crater. He was also able to see now that the other two Rabbits were being led down in a manner similar to him.

Once in the reservoir, JR and the two other Rabbits were made to kneel, their hands clasped behind their heads. Finally, the smoke cleared. Behind them two men – one of them was the man from the boulder – were pointing rifles at them.

The fog had lifted enough now that JR could make out the four other people standing around him. Up on the outer banks of the reservoir, a woman stood surveying the scene in the pit. Occasionally, she would lift her eyes to the surrounding woods to see if anything was coming. A little ways down the slope a tall man with hard expression was perched on a large rock jutting out of the ground. Directly in front of the Rabbits, a few yards away, another man sat wide-legged on another large stone; his brown hair and beard tangled and long. His bright blue eyes glistened from his eye sockets. Behind him, a younger man stood; his arms crossed over his broad muscular chest.

Each of the people in the reservoir had a red paint smear somewhere on their clothes.

"Hello," the man sitting in front of them greeted. He was English and his voice was rich and commanding. "Which on of you is in command of this excursion?"

No one spoke. After waiting a minute, the man that had spoken jutted his head at the far left Rabbit. The previous Red Palm – the one who had been on the boulder – forced the hostage to his feet and pushed him toward the speaker.

"You may sit," the bearded man spoke again, gesturing to the leaf-covered ground.

Hesitantly, the Rabbit sat. All the time, his eyes locked with the speaker's blue ones. The seated Red Palm reached behind, and pulled out a large yellowed map. He spread it out between them.

"You speak English?" the bearded, blue-eyed man asked.

The Rabbit nodded.

"What's your name?"

The Rabbit didn't answer. He glared at the man speaking to him.

"My name is Marcus," the bearded man said. He gestured around him, "And you surely must know who these are."

After a moment, the Rabbit said, "You are The Red Palms."

"Yes, yes," Marcus chuckled, patting the red patch on his chest, "that is who we are. Do you know why we stopped you?"

The Rabbit returned to his former silent state.

"We stopped you," Marcus answered, "because you are supposed to be shuttling Artemis Vrishkov to Tzikistan. But the look on your faces tells me you didn't know that," he muttered, eying the shocked looks on the three Rabbit's.

"Cutting thinks we're stupid," Marcus continued. "He thinks you're stupid, too. That's why he so readily deployed four of his agents into enemy territory. If you haven't figured it out already, you all are decoys. Cutting sent another convoy – the one with Vrishkov – a different way. Whether that is happening today or at later date, we do not know."

"Then why did you stop us, if you knew we didn't have Vrishkov?" the Rabbit asked snidely.

"Because we do not know where, how, or by what road or transportation method Cutting will be using to get the doctor into Leiriakkesh. You, however, know all the Black Rabbits' roads and ways for getting into the province," Marcus said, turning his attention to the map between him and the Rabbit. "I need you to point out all the areas the Black Rabbits use as entrances into Leiriakkesh, all the bases, all the headquarters."

The Rabbit looked down at the map. It was of Leiriakkesh. It was old and marked up with several notes, symbols, and pins. He did know of the other ways Cutting used to get into his province. All the Rabbits did.

The Rabbit looked up from the map and back at Marcus.

"Fuck you," he said, emphasizing the second word.

At first, Marcus' face was expressionless. Then a small smile crept through his beard.

"Very well then. Rigby here," he gestured to the young man standing behind him, "will escort you back to your truck."

Rigby stepped forward, grabbing the Rabbit by the arm and hauling him to his feet. He led the hostage back up the embankment and over its top.

A minute or two of silence passed.

Then a shriek, followed by a swift crack: something heavy hitting something breakable. A softer, gurgled cry answered the first blow. It was equally as terrifying as the first utterance the Rabbit made. There were three more snaps of whatever weapon Rigby had before the sounds stopped. All the while, JR and the other Rabbit flinched and shook.

Once it was over, wind ruffled the leaves in the trees above. A peaceful sound that juxtaposed the scene below. Marcus gazed at the crest of the hill that Rigby and former Rabbit had disappeared over, and then his blue eyes fell to the two remaining hostages.

JR didn't look up, but he felt the man's eyes on him. He stared at the leaves under his knees. He felt the Rabbit beside him shake and convulse. JR glanced over at his partner, nervous at what he might do. That's when the other Rabbit leapt to his feet and made to run. He was quickly stopped by a bullet the Red Palm behind him shot into his back.

"Dammit Seamus," Marcus muttered, glaring the dead body only a few feet away. "Bring the other one over here."

The Red Palm that had been on the boulder hoisted JR to his feet and shoved him in Marcus' direction. JR stumbled and collapsed in front of the map. Marcus waited as JR sat himself up.

"So, are you going to help?" Marcus asked, searching JR's face.

JR's eyes flicked down to the map. He looked at it for a long time before looking back at Marcus.

"Where is Cutting transporting Vrishkov?" Marcus prompted.

JR looked back at the map. He knew. He was fairly certain, anyway. He didn't want to die. But he didn't want to tell Marcus either. By telling the Red Palms about Cutting's secret and not-so-secret entrances into Leiriakkesh he was committing treason against the Black Rabbits. JR wasn't sure what Cutting would do to him if his betrayal were found out, but he feared for his grandmother more than himself.

"You still there?" Marcus asked. JR was pulled out of his thoughts. Shaking his head, he looked back up.

"What's your name?"

"JR."

"Are you going to help us, JR?" Marcus asked. He cocked his head, trying to figure out how he could wrangle JR's trust. "We can protect you if help us."

JR, whose eyes had wandered back to the map, looked up and a grin cracked across his face. It was mocking and cynical.

"No you can't!" JR barked in laughter.

"What makes you so certain?"

"I don't know how much you know about Cutting or the Black Rabbits," JR chuckled, "but you _cannot _protect me. Cutting has Rabbit's _everywhere_. I don't know where they all are. You definitely don't. I'm not even positive that he remembers where all of his members are."

Marcus considered him thoughtfully. "You are our hostage, JR. Tell us what we need to know, or we'll kill you. It is only a minor set back for us."

JR felt his face fall a bit at the Red's words. He looked back down at the map.

"If you tell us," Marcus urged, "we _won't _kill. But we won't let you go."

JR thought about it. If he was forced to stay with the Red Palms, then Cutting couldn't think that whatever information he divulged wasn't done so voluntarily. Surely he couldn't. Again, JR feared what would become of his grandmother if he weren't around anymore.

JR pointed to the Western border of the province, near Kyrgyzstan.

"Here, near former Khujand. Vrishkov hasn't been transported yet, though. Cutting told us to drive into Baboul and wait for further instructions. Now I'm assuming it was to wait until Vrishkov got to his destination, and then we were to protect him. Something like that."

"When is Cutting sending Vrishkov here?" Marcus asked.

"I don't know. He's badly injured. Before I left for this mission, he had just been put on a new dose of meds. Something to make him stronger for travel."

"When did you leave for this mission?"

"Yesterday."

"How is Vrishkov being transported?"

"By plane, probably," JR guessed. "The Anarchists have a small base set up by the Kayrakum reservoir."

Marcus watched JR. Thoughtfully considering what was being told to him. He only had two choices: believe JR or not. He couldn't afford not to believe.

"Thank you very much, JR," Marcus said, smiling.

JR barely noticed the brief hand gesture Marcus made with his fingers before there was a crunch of leaves behind him. Then it went all black.

* * *

During the summer, Davis lived in a small homestead about half a mile away from the Anderson's ranch house. When the fall ad winter rolled around, and Mr. and Mrs. Anderson went back to Connecticut, he stayed in the big house, keeping it in order. He preferred the smaller cabin. The Anderson's summer home was just too big, he thought. Even with his two Sheppard's, Maxie and Pat, it was empty.

But he was paid (well, mind you) to take care of the grounds and of the house, so he would do whatever the Anderson's asked. When Victoria and Edwin occupied the big house, they would bring a slew of maids with them so taking care of the home did not fall to him. Instead, Davis focused on patrolling the perimeter of the fifty-acre property, exercising the family horses, maintaining the barn and stables, and occasionally drove to the nearest town for supplies.

At the moment he was driving along the property's fence, making sure that no wildlife or trespassers had damaged the barbed wire or wooden posts. Maxie and Pat were in the bed of the pickup truck, savoring the wind blowing through their thick black fur, their mouths hung open and their tongues were flapping in the breeze.

As Davis drove along the North property line, the Rockies looming grandly a couple miles away, he noticed something up ahead. He squinted, trying to determine what it was before actually coming upon it.

Getting closer, he saw that a small section of the barbed wire that wrapping around the intermittent fence posts had been bent, as if someone or something had clambered over it. Back in the bed, Maxie and Pat began pacing and whining excitedly. Davis slowed the truck to a stop, got out and opened the truck bed. The two dogs leapt from the vehicle and ran to the malformed section of fence, sniffing and rumbling. Davis followed close behind, examining the damage. He bent down and picked up a small piece of torn blue cloth. He rubbed it between his fingers. The tall grass surrounding the fence was flattened, as was the path leading away from it, toward the main house.

"Here," Davis whistled.

Maxie and Pat came up to their owner and sniffed at the piece of cloth he presented them. There noses fell to the ground and they each took a few steps along the matted grass. Maxie was the first to look up, then Pat. Each dog stared back in the direction of the main house, which was many miles away from where they were. Both Maxie and Pat lowered their heads, their ears lying flat against their skulls, and began to stalk forward.

Davis watched his two animals with interest, and then brought his eyes to the horizon they were creeping towards. About a mile or so away, he saw a blue figure stealthily crossing the pasture, heading in the direction of the Anderson's ranch house. Davis didn't know what kind of trouble the current houseguests were in, but having someone sneak their way onto the ranch was probably not a good sign.

Davis tucked the cloth into his pocket, and said: "Fetch."

Both Maxie and Pat, who had continued to stalk forward, leapt into fast sprints. Davis ran to his truck, reignited the engine and followed.

* * *

Chernobyl.

Hego.

Go City, Illinois.

Middleton, Pennslyvania.

President Harrison Heath.

Secretary-General Bur-Whazahm.

'_Rabbits: Six, Us: Zip,' _Kim thought bitterly, tailing behind Rooke as he went to ask Edwin Anderson for a favor. He asked for a map of Asia.

Edwin obliged Rooke's request and went to fetch the massive atlas from his office. The Anderson's maids cleared the breakfast service, making way for the large book. Edwin handed it to Rooke, who laid it across the table. He carefully opened it and began flipping through its pages. Everyone stood around the table, apprehensively waiting.

Rooke's hands slowed, flipping single pages instead of multiple. Finally, he seemed to reach the page he wanted, and he smoothed out the papers in front of him.

"Do you mind if I write on this?" Rooke asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pen. Before Edwin could respond, Rooke made a mark on the country in front of him.

Kim twisted her head to get a better look at the images on the map. The most prominent country inked onto the page was one called Tajikistan. It was a small piece of land squeezed between Afghanistan, Pakistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, and China. The mark Rooke had made was a short line separating a brief jut of land of Northern Tajikistan from the rest of the country.

"This," Rooke explained, pointing to the small chunk of land, "is Leiriakkesh."

Most everyone leaned across the table from where they stood to get a better look.

"Its revolution began at the end of the 1950s, as a means of separating from Soviet rule. Cutting began funding – subsequently leading – the _Anarchists_ in the early sixties. Leiriakkesh remained a part of Tajikistan until 1965, when it officially seceded from the country. It has never been recognized as its own nation, but it is no longer under the jurisdiction of the Tajik government."

"Why is this important?" Ron asked suddenly, becoming bored with the history lesson.

Silence fell over the group, and all heads slowly turned to face him. Ron inaudibly gulped and shrank behind Kim. He hadn't meant to voice that out loud.

"Do you not think it important to know as much as you can about a place or a person before you go about trying to do something about it," Rooke asked. Ron shuffled his feet, looking at the floor.

"Now," Rooke began again, turning his attention back to the map, "if we are indeed going to go into Leiriakkesh, our first dilemma is actually getting _into _the province."

"How did you do it last time?" Miriam asked meekly. She was standing a few feet behind everyone else, her arm looped tightly around her husband's. She wore a determined expression, and her lips pursed together tightly.

"There was a second uprising in progress when you asked me to go to Leiriakkesh," Rooke explained. "With the Leirian people attempting to stand up against the reign of the Anarchists, it was easier to sneak inside. As of right now, there is nothing to distract the Anarchists from patrolling the borders. It'll be more difficult to get in."

"Let's go ahead and skip over that," Derek butted in. "Let's just assume we get into Leiriakkesh, what then? What do we do?"

He looked at Kim and Shego expectantly. It had been their bright idea after all. Before Kim could answer, Shego stepped forward.

"It's like you said earlier: Cutting won't destroy his baby. If we can get in - cause some sort of distraction - it might sidetrack Cutting enough to focus his attention on us instead of the rest of the world."

"Aw man," Ron whined, "I was really hoping I was done with whole distraction thing. I defeated aliens and saved earth once for crying out loud!"

"We don't exactly have the upper hand in this sitch, Ron," Kim reminded.

"If we grab his attention long enough," Shego growled, glaring at the two teens, "we may be able to stall him long enough to stop him."

"That still doesn't solve the problem of _how _we're going to get in there," Sutton repeated.

"There is a very small strip of land," Rooke said, making another mark on the map, "that separates Leiriakkesh from Tajikistan; basically, it's a permanent No-Man's-Land. The Red Palms reside there. At least they did when I was involved in the second part of the revolution. They would know how to get in."

"Who are they?" Kim asked, eying the small section of land sandwiched between Leiriakkesh and Tajikistan.

"The Red Palms are a dwindling group of revolutionaries that have been fighting against the Leirian Anarchists for several years. Last I heard Marcus Fetch was leading them."

"Should I know who that is?" Ron asked.

"No."

"Once were there," Sutton broke in, "where do we go? What's the plan?"

Kim blinked and looked to Rooke expectantly.

"Tzikistan is more or less the capital city of Leiriakkesh. However, the Anarchists headquarters is actually several miles north, near the Fergana Valley. At least, that's where it was when I was there in the eighties."

Silence fell over the group. No one really knowing what to say or how to continue.

"What do we do?" Mr. Dr. Possible suddenly asked. "What're we supposed to do?"

Rooke stood from leaning over the map. "Stay here. As of right now, it is the safest place we currently have. I hope that's all right."

His grey eyes found Victoria and Edwin's faces in the room. Neither of them appeared too ecstatic at the prospect of having several strange guests in their home for some undetermined amount of time, but they knew they couldn't refuse. Edwin nodded.

"When are you planning on leaving?" Kim's mother asked. The question was to the room, but she looked worriedly at her daughter.

"I figured we leave as soon as possible," Kim replied, looking to Rooke for confirmation.

He nodded, looking over to Sutton, "Where did you land the Daeva?"

"About a hundred miles east of here. In an abandoned barn outside of Lewistown."

"Are you sure it's alright there?" Mama Lipsky chirped. "It's awfully far away, and that barn was especially rickety."

"It's _fine, _mother," Drakken said through gritted teeth. "We told you several times yesterday that it would be fine."

"That sounds an awful lot like lip, young man."

"Sorry."

Rooke opened his mouth to interrupt the mother-son banter, but was instead cut short by the rumble of an engine, the screech of car brakes, and the barking of dogs from outside.

"Anderson!" yelled Davis. His voice was high and tight with anxiety.

Focus completely shifting, Edwin stormed out of the dining room, closely followed by Victoria, and then everyone else.

Davis had pulled his truck up to the front porch, parked at a messy angle. Maxie and Pat were pacing around the vehicle, stalking low, their hackles erect, teeth bared. Every now and then, one or the other would jump up, snapping and barking at the truck bed.

"What's going on?" Edwin demanded. Rooke came to step in tandem with him.

"Trespasser," Davis explained, grabbing an old rifle from the front seat of the cab. "Given the recent circumstances, I thought it best to run him down and bring him here. Don't let him escape."

Davis rounded the truck to the bed door, shooing the Sheppard's back. He wrenched the rusty door open and quickly aimed the rifle at the trespasser. Edwin and Davis kept their angry, befuddled expressions. At seeing who it was, Rooke reassumed his lax posture, putting his hands in his pockets. A small smile crept across his mouth.

"Agent Du, fancy seeing you here," he said.

Kim and Ron perked up, running to the backside of the truck. Will Du sat at the back of the truck bed, his back resting against the cab. His hands were gripping tightly around his left thigh, which was dark and damp with blood.

"What happened?" Ron asked.

"Maxie bit 'em," Davis said, relaxing the weapon in his arms. "He's fine. You know this guy?"

"He's an agent for Global Justice," Rooke replied.

"Was," Will corrected. "GJ is gone remember?"

"Help him out of the truck," Rooke said walking back to the main house.

Derek and Sutton stepped forward and climbed onto the truck bed. Each brother took an arm and lifted Will to his feet. Carefully, he was led inside the Anderson's summer home.

* * *

"How did you find us?" Rooke questioned.

Will was seated in the porcelain tub of the Master bathroom. Margo was on a stool next to the tub, showerhead in hand and spraying cold water across the bite marks on the afflicted leg. Will answered just as Kim came in with a large first aide kit.

"Our radar systems know and recognize the frequency of the Kimmunicator."

Rooke furrowed his brow. He turned to Kim and held out his hand.

"Give it to me."

Kim paused before unstrapping the device from her wrist and placed in his waiting hand.

"Ronan," Rooke called. The skeletal agent appeared at the doorway and he handed the Kimmunicator to her. "Deactivate it."

Ronan turned the device over in her hands, running her long fingers over its face. After a few moments of examining it, she held one end of the strap, letting the body and other strap hang loosely in the air. With one smooth flick of her wrist, she smacked the Kimmunicator against the wall of the bathroom. The face cracked into spider webs and a soft, electric fizzle whispered from under its body. Silently, Ronan handed it back to Rooke.

"That's not exactly what I meant," Rooke sighed, but Ronan was gone before she could hear it. He turned back to Kim.

"Sorry," he said, "but it needed to be done."

Kim pursed her lips. "No big. I understand."

Rooke nodded and pocketed the broken Kimmunicator.

"How did you get away?" Kim asked, turning back to Will.

At this moment, Margo had dampened a large strip of gauze with Hydrogen Peroxide and began wiping the puncture wounds. Will let out a low, uncomfortable hiss.

"There was an opportunity and I took it," he said, glaring at his tattered limb. "Dr. Director is still in jail."

"Why did you look for us?" Rooke asked.

Will tore his focus away from his leg, which Margo was now wrapping in bandages. He locked eyes with the Syndicate leader for a moment before looking to Kim.

"You're not the only one she lied to."

Silence filled the spacious bathroom. Margo, having finished bandaging the agent's leg, packed up and left the room. Will looked back down at his leg. White gauze and tape covered most of his left thigh. The dog had got him 'better' than he realized; his leg was beginning to throb and sting. He breathed heavily through his nose.

"There's one more reason I came to find you," he admitted, still not looking at either Kim or Rooke.

Will reached into the inside pocket of his GJ vest and pulled out two small envelopes. He handed them up to Rooke.

The envelopes were crisp cardstock – heavy and expensive. One envelope was addressed to him and Margo, the other to Dr. Drakken and Saoirse Gordon. There was a return address for Big Daddy Brotherson, but when Rooke turned the envelopes over and saw the black wax seal embossed with the silhouette of a rabbit he knew whom it was truly from.

He opened the card addressed to him and his wife.

_Dear Mr. and Dr. Rooke:_

_You are cordially invited to a private Soiree at the Bermuda Triangle Night Club_

_On_

_Thursday, June 7th 2007_

_At_

_9:00 PM_

_This event is Black Tie. Please dress according._

_No RSVP necessary. We will see you there._

"How did you come by this?" Rooke asked.

"The one for Drakken and Shego was sent to their suite at the Willard Hotel in DC. Since they were no longer there, the hotel sent it to headquarters. Yours was sent straight to GJHQ. I grabbed them before I went AWOL," Will said. "What is it?"

"An invitation. To a party at the Bermuda Triangle. On its surface, it looks at though Brotherson is throwing it, but we know better. I'm assuming Drakken and Saoirse's is the same."

Kim sat up straighter. "Are you going to go?"

She felt stupid for asking. Most people when invited to a party being thrown by their enemy would say 'no', but things were different with the Syndicate.

Rooke eyed the invite again. "I will have to talk it over with Margo, but I am interested."

"What if it's a trap?" Kim asked, interrupting Will who had been intent on asking the same.

The old man looked at the two invested young people in front of him.

"Sometimes playing into the enemy's hand is the last thing they expect," Rooke said quietly.

* * *

Rooke and Margo made the decision to attend the party at the Bermuda Triangle. As did Drakken and Shego, once they opened and read their own invitation.

The rest of the Syndicate, and Kim and Ron would follow; but not being invited, they would act as spies and security if things went awry.

Will agreed to stay behind at the Anderson ranch and become the Syndicate's eyes in the United States. He would protect the Possibles, Stoppables, and Anderson if need be.

At being told that she would indeed be expected to sit back and do nothing, Karen became agitated and prickly. She was brought back to her childhood and how she felt when her parents would squelch her natural voice and personality for one more fitting and normal. She felt the innate rebel in her spark to life.

She wouldn't be told what to do.

She wouldn't be left behind.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading. Don't forget to review :)


	7. Bad Influence

**A/N:** I'm back!

I finished up my internship this past week, so I thought I'd finish up this chapter as well :)

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I'm gonna try this again:

**DrakkenandShegoLover1: **Here's the update! WOOO! I hope this chapter brings at least a little closure to your query. I hope you like it. Thanks for your review!

**ajw1970: **Thank you very much for the review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. And I want to thank you specifically for the comment about my OCs. I know that a lot of people are usually not into characters that were never in the original series, and I can understand that. But I'm glad that you like them. I've worked hard on developing them and fleshing them out. Thank you for your feedback :)

**Beckman: **Ha! Yeah, Cutting is pretty deplorable isn't he? Ironically, despite how depraved he is, I really enjoy writing about him. I find that he's one of the easiest characters to write for. I'm glad that I'm able to write him 'bad' enough that readers would like to hurt him themselves. I think you'll find the answer to your question early on in this chapter. As for your review on chapter 5: I actually feel the same way about K/R as you do D/S; it bores me. I find it too simple and easy. I dunno. However, I will try to incorporate more K/R. I tried a little bit with this chapter. Hope you like it.

**CB73: **Heh . . . rabbit hole . . . 'cause, ya know . . . Black Rabbits. heheh.

**zzzoo99: **Next chapter for you, my dear :)

Thanks for everyone how read the last chapter! I hope you like this one too. Please R and R!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own shit.

* * *

_Lordy, Lordy, I can't help it_

_I like to party_

_It's genetic, it's electrifying_

_Wind me up and watch me go _

_Where she stops, nobody knows_

_A good excuse to be a bad influence on you_

_- P!nk (Alecia Moore)_

* * *

"Are you sure about this Kimmie?" Mr. Dr. Possible asked.

"Yes."

Boyfriend and girlfriend stood, facing their families. They were in the large home theater of the Anderson's summer home. The soft couches and chairs around them had been converted to beds. Their families sat around, watching the two teens.

Hana began to fidget in her mother's arms.

"Bra-bra," she babbled, reaching out for Ron. He obliged her request, scooping her up from their mother's lap.

"C'mere, Lil' sis."

"Kim," Mrs. Dr. Possible spoke up, "I – I think you may want to reconsider this plan you've concocted."

"Mom," Kim said exasperatedly. "I know the dangers. _Obviously_. But we don't have anything better."

"You have the option of staying here. Working with that GJ agent. Staying with us," her mother offered.

Kim shook her head angrily. "I can't. Not any more. I have to see this through."

"I'm with you, KP," Ron reassured.

"I know you are," she replied, a thankful grin on her lips.

"We are all with you," Mr. Stoppable added. "But we are just concerned."

"This ordeal is unlike any of your other missions," Kim's father said.

"You think I don't realize that?" Kim asked, her voice rising. "Of course it's different! People have _died._"

"Exactly," her mother said quietly.

"We don't want to lose you again, Kimberly Ann," her grandmother voiced. Slim nodded. "Or you, Ronald."

"You didn't lose me, you won't. Ron saved me last time, and I'm sure he will do it again if necessary."

Ron reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "You know it."

Silence fell over the group as the parents searched their minds for new points to make. Kim and Ron ignored them, looking down at their clasped hands.

"Why don't you just go after him?" a small voice questioned. It was Joss. She hadn't spoken since arriving at the ranch the night before, and so everyone turned to look at her.

"The guy behind all of this," she continued. "Cutting, or whatever his name is."

Kim opened her mouth to answer, but stopped when she realized that she didn't have an answer.

Why didn't they just go after Cutting? So far, Kim and Ron had been subjected to doing things the Syndicate's way, and their way involved rather round about ways of getting to the man behind it all.

"We don't after Cutting directly because we've tried it before," came a voice at the door. It was Margo.

"When Stephen went to Leiriakkesh in the eighties, we didn't know that Cutting was heading the Anarchists," she explained. "When he found out, he devised a plan with Marcus Fetch to go directly after Cutting.

"We found out that Cutting was living in a large penthouse of Hotel Royale, in Monaco. I don't know how," Margo said quietly, "but somehow, the Rabbits got wind of the impending attack. Stephen, Marcus and the barrage of Red Palms with them were ambushed in the casino of Hotel Royale. Stephen, Marcus, and one other Palm – a man by the name of Victor Smith – escaped. Alive.

"After that, I asked Stephen to come home. The second Leirian revolution was coming to a close, despite our efforts. The Red Palms had lost several members, through the revolutionary battles and the massacre in Monaco. There was little more we could do.

"So, to answer your question," Margo concluded, looking to Joss, "we do not go after Cutting directly because he is too well protected, too smart, and too difficult to bring down without bringing down his empire first."

"So he's like the ultimate video game boss," Ron said. "You gotta get past all the little bosses before the big one."

Margo cocked an eyebrow at him, "I suppose that would be an appropriate analogy."

"If that's the case," Kim broke in, "why are we making a detour to the Bermuda Triangle to attend Cutting's party?"

"First off, Stephen, Drakken, Saoirse and I will be in attendance. Not you two, and not the rest of the Syndicate. Clearly, Cutting has Big Daddy Brotherson as a player in his scheme, who knows which other villains he may have involved. That's information we need."

"So you need an office raid," Kim guessed. "Brotherson's paperwork, villains' correspondence, that sort of thing."

"You are very bright, Miss Possible." Margo acknowledged. "Yes. You, Ronald, and the Syndicate will take care of the grunt work."

"Just so long as we're not distractions," Ron muttered.

"Hopefully we won't need anything of that sort."

"When are we leaving?" Kim asked, taking a decisive step towards the woman.

Margo paused, and then glanced down at the watch on her wrist. "Three o'clock this afternoon. We'll fetch the Daeva and fly to Miami. We will run a couple errands there before continuing to Bermuda."

"What's in Miami?"

"One of my safety deposit boxes," Margo answered, sparing Kim any more details. "Kimberly, you will need to arrange the ride to the Bermuda Triangle for yourself and the rest. You have a friend or two who owe you favors, don't you?"

Kim blinked, taken aback by the statement. Never before had Margo or Rooke even asked about Kim's Rolodex of Rides.

"Uh, yeah, sure," the teen answered. "There are a few fisherman that I've saved from hurricanes and storms and stuff in that area. They would do me a favor, I think."

"Good. You'll need to get in contact with them right away."

"I don't have my Kimmunicator," Kim said sadly. "Ronan – er – deactivated it."

"Then talk to her or Angela about communications," Margo said, walking out of the theater.

"I vote Angela," Kim mumbled under her breath.

* * *

"Who?" Angela asked, squinting at the screens surrounding her.

Her petite fingers floated over the holographic keyboard, delicately typing out what Kim said.

"His name's Terry Bailey. He's a commercial fisherman that sails near the Bermuda Triangle nightclub."

"Why are you looking for him?"

Kim sighed, "So we can get into the building. Sneakily."

"Sneakily being the operative adverb," Ron added.

"Yeah. I figured," Angela quipped blandly. "Okay. I got the contact information. Now what?"

"Can you call him?"

"Work, work, work," Angela muttered. She punched a few more keys before the dull ringing of a phone hummed from some unseeable source. After four rings, there was a click and the other end was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello! Mr. Bailey? It's Kim Possible."

"And Ron Stoppable!"

"Well, hello there, Miss Possible! What a nice surprise! How are you?"

"Er – I'm fine," Kim responded uneasily. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor, Mr. Bailey."

"Anything for the girl who helped to save the world."

Ron mumbled something about his involvement. Kim punched his shoulder.

"Great!" she cried enthusiastically. "Well, here's the sitch: Ron and I, and few other people, need to be taken to the waters just outside the Bermuda Triangle nightclub."

"Again? Didn't you just go there, like, a year ago?"

"Yeah. There's more trouble there."

"Alright," Mr. Bailey said cheerfully. "When is this little excursion?"

"Thursday night."

"Sounds good!"

"Thanks, Mr. Bailey," Kim said as he hung up. "We'll get back in touch with him when we get to Miami," Kim added to no one in particular.

"Anything else?" Angela asked.

"I don't think so," Kim answered. "What time is it?"

"11:40."

There was a sudden knock at the library door and Sutton poked his head into the room.

"There you are," he said, referring to Kim. "You busy?" She shook her head. "Would you mind coming with me?"

Kim glanced over at Ron. He shrugged. Complying with Sutton's request, Kim followed him out of the room.

"Ronan has something for you," he explained as they made their way to the front of the house.

"Oh. What?"

Sutton didn't answer and Kim pursed her lips in annoyance, continuing to follow him.

"Can I ask you a question?" Kim asked suddenly as the front door came into view.

"Sure."

"What do you see in her? Seriously?"

Sutton stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to look at her. His eyebrows quirked and a slight grin formed on his lips. He shook his head, sighed and opened the door.

"She's different," he said by way of explanation, allowing Kim to slide past him.

"That goes without saying."

Sutton made a sound in the back on his throat. "I met her when I was twenty. She was studying abroad in London, and we happened to be at the same pub one evening.

"She is several things," he continued. "Some are not flattering, but even you cannot deny that she is . . . enticing – for lack of a better word."

"I'd use '_interesting'_, " Kim commented, "but I see what you're saying."

"Pubs being the chummy places that they are, I went over to talk to her. She wouldn't have anything to do with me at first," Sutton chuckled. "But before she left for her flat that night, she scribbled her number and address on a napkin, balled it up and threw it at me."

"Romantic."

"She was waiting for me at the same pub the next night. She had ordered two drinks and everything." He paused thoughtfully.

"She's different," he repeated. "She's like no one I've ever met before, or will ever meet again. She's exciting, spontaneous, smart, enigmatic," Sutton traveled off, unsure if he was successfully expressing himself. He looked to Kim who still looked confused and unconvinced.

"I just knew when I saw her that night that I needed her," he finally said. "I don't know how to explain it beyond that."

Kim everted her eyes and nodded as the pair entered the barn.

* * *

Ronan had been building the bunker under the barn for the past four years. Slowly but surely; usually when her grandparents were back in Connecticut during the fall and winter months. The only person on the ranch at that time was Davis, and he was usually held up in the large summer home.

The space under the barn floor was by no means as large as the Shop back at the manor, nor was it as high tech. Really; it was a large storage facility and shooting range. Much like her father, Ronan had built so many devices and weapons that they served no immediate purpose. She had created them because she was bored, and to see if she could. Of course she could.

The only problem with Ronan's consistent inventing and tinkering was the eventual lack of space in the Shop. Luckily, Ronan knew she could hide several of her creations right under her family's noses.

At the moment, Ronan was rifling through a number of steel bins, pawing past pieces of scrap metal and extra tools. Behind her, Drakken was making sure his mother wasn't touching anything.

Claudia had scurried after her granddaughter when she had announced that she was going to do some work. Knowing that it would be futile to discourage her, Ronan allowed her to tag along; shooting Drakken a 'follow me' look as she exited her grandparents home.

Mildly perplexed, Drakken followed in step.

"Make sure she doesn't touch anything."

"What do you have down there?" Drakken asked. He couldn't imagine her storing anything too dangerous on her grandparent's property.

Ronan shrugged noncommittally. "I can't really remember. Stuff. And the Tank."

At the moment, Claudia had a hand hovering over the large hubcap of the Tank – it was taller than she. She gazed up at the vehicle, mouth agape. Drakken had a similar expression on. He hadn't gotten a chance to see the transport Ronan had used to pick up Kim Possible's cousin; and as with the Daeva, he was impressed. In a way, it reminded him of the Doom-vee, except it was much more streamline, with smooth angular plates of amour that lay very close to the skeleton of the vehicle. There were no doors and Drakken assumed that a portion of the hood was fitted with hydraulic levers that would raise the top back allowing entry into the cockpit.

Studying it, Drakken felt the newly familiar pride expand in his chest. It was followed by a fleeting sense of regret.

"Aha!" Ronan barked.

Mother and son turned to see her scrambling out of a large crate, shoving and kicking aside random items in her way. Turtle, who had also followed them down, scurried out of the way as a muffler went skittering across the floor.

Once she was out of the mess, Ronan strode toward a large wooden workbench propped against the wall. She set down the spray can she had found, and then kneeled down. She grabbed for something tucked away under the bench and hauled out a large safe. Letting out a trying grunt, Ronan gave one final tug on the safe's handle as she cleared it from the bottom support beam of the bench. The force she generated knocked her back on her behind.

"Are you okay, dear?" Claudia called.

"Fine," Ronan growled. Turtle came forward to inspect his owner, and she briefly scratched his ears before rising to her knees again.

She spun the combination lock appropriately and wrenched the heavy lid open. Both Drakken and his mother craned their necks to see the contents. Ronan grabbed what she needed, shut the lid, spun the lock, and kicked the safe back under the bench. She placed the small handgun she retrieved on the table next to the spray can. Seeing the weapon, Claudia made a shocked 'Eep!' sound.

"You do know what you're doing with that, don't you dear?" she asked worriedly.

Ronan didn't answer, instead repeating her grandmother's question in a mocking tone under her breath.

"What was that, dear?"

"_Nothing._"

Ronan removed the clip from the grip of the gun, examining the capacity of the magazine. Seeing that it was full, she used the heel of her hand to ram the accessory back into place. Reaching up to the cork board above the table, she grabbed a couple items and tossed them in Drakken and Claudia's direction.

"Eyes and ears," she said, by way of explanation.

Drakken reached out and caught a pair of noise cancelling headphones and a pair of safety goggles. A vine shot out from his shirt collar and snagged the second set that Ronan had tossed. Claudia jumped and let out a small shriek at the sight of the plant growing out of her son.

Drakken sighed. "It's okay, mother."

The vine lowered itself and handed Claudia her own headphones and goggles. She took them in her small hands, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the botanical appendage.

"Does it hurt?"

Drakken shook his head in the negative.

"How long are you going to be like this?"

"I don't know," he answered sadly. The superhypollinator effects had not diminished since being dosed in the solution more than a week ago. Chances are, he would be like this forever.

"Eyes and ears on," Ronan called. "It's about to get reasonably loud."

She had made her way over to the far end of the room where there was a long, narrow annex. A single metal track ran along its ceiling. A keypad was affixed to the wall, and Ronan punched in a code. Distant mechanized clinking and whirring slowly grew louder as a clasp came riding up along the ceiling track. Ronan attached a large piece of paper to the clasp, pushed another button on the pad, and the target went whizzing back to the end of the range. Ronan snapped her headphones over her ears and assumed the proper firing stance.

Drakken and Claudia both jumped when the first shot was fired, and their hands flew up to their ears to press their headphones closer to their heads. Claudia watched in horror that her granddaughter knew so much about handling dangerous weapons. Again, Drakken was impressed – and intimidated.

Ronan fired off six consecutive rounds before lowering the gun. Her fingers found the keypad again and pressed a button. The target was brought back to the opposite end of the range and Ronan removed it from the clasp. She smirked at her handiwork – all six shots had pierced the center of the target, rendering the small circle into a gaping hole.

It would do.

She tossed the paper aside. "You can take those off now," she said, referring to Drakken and Claudia's headgear.

The pair removed the accessories and set them aside on a large steel box. Turtle, who had disappeared during the shooting practice, reappeared and trotted over to Ronan who had returned to the workbench. She had set up the hand gun in an apparatus that held it upright, and began searching through a filing cabinet next to the bench.

The door to the subterranean space was opened and Drakken and his mother turned to see Sutton and Kim Possible descending the steps.

"You wanted to see me?" Kim said to Ronan.

"You bet."

Ronan took out a surgical mask, a pair of orange tinted safety goggles, and what looked like a dentist's sealing ray.

"Shooting a gun is similar to firing your hairdryer–thingy," Ronan explained randomly. "This nine-millimeter is small and has very little kickback, so even you should be able to handle it."

Kim was about to say something when Ronan put the mask over her mouth and turned her back. She picked up the spray can she had been foraging foe previously, uncapped the top, shook it and sprayed the handle and the trigger pull of the gun with a fine mist. When she was done, the cap was placed back on the bottle, and she tossed it back into mess from whenst it came.

She ripped off the mask and said, "C'mere."

The command was for Kim and she slowly stepped forward to the bench.

"Grab it like you would your hairdryer."

Kim hesitated, squinting at Ronan, before obliging and wrapping her hand around the grip. Her fingers twitched uncomfortably around the trigger, coming to rest. It was sticky, like dried juice on a table.

"Okay, that's good," Ronan snapped, nudging Kim aside. She had put on the pair of goggles and had taken up the sealing ray. An iridescent blue light illuminated from the tip of the device, washing over the semi-automatic. After a few moments, Ronan clicked off the ray and tossed it back into the filing cabinet she had pulled it from. She slid the goggles off her head and threw them in the drawer as well.

"This is yours," she said, removing the weapon from its resting place. "It will only fire for you."

Ronan handed Kim the gun, who took it carefully. Ronan smirked at the girl's uncomfortableness. A very loud meow sounded from the floor, and Ronan stooped down to pick up Turtle. The cat adjusted himself to his owner's shoulders as she turned and began to make for the exit. Sutton turned on his heel and followed.

Kim's eyes fell on the small semi-automatic in her hands. She turned it over, her fingers running along the barrel and the action. She grimaced.

"I won't use it!" Kim called at Ronan's back.

"We'll see," the agent murmured, her stride unbreaking as she exited the location.

* * *

Shego lay on her back, one hand tucked behind her head, the other's fingers tracing over the intricate gold leaf filigree on the lip of the end table next to her. She casually wondered what carat it was, how much of the stuff was embossed on the two wood tables flanking the bed she lay on, and how much it might net her if she were able to sell it.

Despite everything, Shego was _itchy. _She knew Drakken was too.

"So you're really gonna do it?" came a voice at the bedroom door. It was Mego. Shego hadn't really talked to her second oldest brother since Hego's death. She hadn't wanted to and neither did he. Now he stood leaning against the doorframe, eying his sister's listless form stretched across the bed.

"You're going to Lieriakkesh?" he asked blandly.

Shego sat up. "Yeah. We're gonna do it."

"Mom doesn't want you to go."

"I know," Shego growled. "I just spent the better part of an hour trying to calm her down -"

"Dad doesn't want you to go either."

"I _know, _Mel. Neither of them want me to do this. But I'm gonna. I have to."

Mego smirked briefly before his face fell back into its former lazy look. "Saving the world again? You tried destroying it for five years, and now you can't stop trying to help it."

Shego frowned and responded, "I'm not doing this for the world."

Mego stared at her, his eyes darkening. "Are you gonna get her?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna get her."

Mego nodded and looked at his feet.

"What're you and the twins going to do?" Shego asked suddenly. A small sigh escaped through Mego's nose before he raised his head to answer.

"I think Team Go is history. The twins will be going off to college in a year - hopefully. I don't wanna be a leader; Hell, I really haven't wanted to _be _a hero for the past three years," Mego paused, debating whether or not to continue with his thought. He decided to go for it. "Things really haven't been the same since you left, and now that Henry's gone . . ."

He finally broke off, his right shoulder shrugging up in a jaded fashion. Shego looked down at the bedspread, something like guilt weighing down her stomach. By the time she looked back up, Mego was gone.

* * *

"There you are!" Ron exclaimed, coming up behind Kim.

When she hadn't returned from her errand with Sutton, he went in search of her. As Ron perused through the mansion, he had caught sight of her perched against the postings of the Anderson's corral.

"Oh," Kim muttered, barely sparing Ron a glance. "Sorry." Her gaze fell to something in her hands.

Ron cocked his head, shaggy blond hair skirting over his eyelashes. He stepped closer, resting his arms on the top bracket of fence. He felt like he was spying on her, but he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering down and take in the sight of the small handgun in her hands.

"What's that?"

"A gun," Kim answered simply, almost sarcastically. "Ronan did something to it. Sprayed it with something so that now I am the only one who can fire it."

"You're not gonna use it, are you?" Ron asked meekly.

"Of course not!" Kim responded hotly, turning an incredulous glare on him. "C'mon Ron! You know me better than that!"

Ron's voice got lost in his throat, stunned by Kim's sudden irritation. He felt Rufus quiver in his pants pocket.

"S-sorry," he murmured. "Its just - why do you have it then?"

Kim pulled her lips in tight and frowned. She considered the question before saying, "Just to get her off my back. If I didn't take it, she would've . . . been annoying."

Kim's eyes fell one again on the weapon her hands held. It was surprisingly heavy, and she found that oddly satisfying. Ron watched her gaze carefully, trying to discern what she was feeling. Usually he could read Kim like a book. He knew her so well. But now it was like there was a fog over her.

He put his arm around her shoulders and tilted his head against hers. Whatever tension was was racking her body, it melted away and Kim felt herself mold against Ron's frame. As if they were pieces of a puzzle. She closed her eyes and took in his scent, listening to his heart beat in her ear.

_'I just knew when I saw her that night that I needed her.'_

Sutton's words came flooding back into Kim's mind as Ron's heart thumped comfortingly against her.

* * *

A half hour before they were due to depart, Ron found Ronan in the large garage attached to her grandparents summer home. She was busy packing up two enormous sports utility vehicles with large black duffle bags - undoubtedly stuffed with weapons and according munitions. He felt his fists involuntarily flex before continuing into the room.

Ronan glanced up from her task when Ron was about five feet away. She gave the last duffle a final shove into the SUV and slammed the trunk shut.

"Can I help you?"

"Stop goading Kim," Ron stated firmly.

Ronan stared at him. A mischievous grin flickered across her mouth - a feature that reminded Ron so much of Drakken that he momentarily lost his train of thought. She brought herself up to her full height and took a step towards him, squaring her shoulders. Ron held his ground, although in truth he was intimidated by the way she loomed above him and by how her shoulders were broader than his.

"What do you mean?"

Ron felt his lip curl. "Stop trying to mess with her. You're not gonna change her. And I won't let you make her feel bad about what she believes in."

"Is that a threat?"

"What if it is?" Ron asked, his voice cracking embarrassingly over the words.

Ronan barked out a laugh. "Okay, monkey boy. I've been dually warned!"

"I'm serious!" Ron said, voice rising. "Stop belittling Kim. Stop trying to prove her wrong. She'll never be like you. You may be a bad influence -"

"Ooooo, a bad influence? _Me?"_

"But Kim is a stronger person than you are." Ronan's face fell as Ron barreled on. "Just because you're angry and cynical doesn't mean its right, or better. Kim's better than you."

At that, Ronan closed the distance between her and the boy. Ron took a small step back as she barged into his personal bubble. Their eyes locked with strong determination and venom.

"I've taken on two nine-foot tall aliens," Ron whispered. "I can take you."

Ronan's spiny knuckles flew up and sped towards his face. There was a flash of blue and her punch was blocked as Ron's hand grabbed her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. He twisted the position of his hand, torquing her elbow into a painful angle. Ronan hissed in shock and pain.

"I can take you," Ron repeated. He deepened the twist to emphasize his point before releasing her. "Leave Kim alone."

After that, Ron left, leaving Ronan alone in the garage holding her aching forearm. Shame coursed through her veins at how she was not able to best the teenager.

* * *

The time finally came to leave the Anderson ranch. Miriam gripped Shego's hand tightly until the last moment. Claudia stood between Drakken and Ronan, gripping their shirt sleeves, a deep frown creasing her face. The Possibles and Stoppables held their children close. Karen stood back, surveying the goodbyes instead of taking part in them.

Rooke and Margo imparted a few pieces of contact information to Will Du before climbing into their respective passenger seats in the two SUVs. The Syndicate agents were next to board the vehicles; Derek taking the driver's seat in one, Sutton driving the other. Before stepping into the car, Ronan flicked a brief glare in Ron's direction.

"What was that?" Kim asked, noticing the look.

"I dunno," Ron said offhandedly. He glanced down at the handgun that had replaced the hairdryer in her belt holster before taking her hand and walking to one of the waiting transports.

* * *

Twenty minutes after the Syndicate left for Lewistown, Karen snuck back into the near empty garage. She had always been good at sneaking around. Contrary to her parents' beliefs, Karen had done much more in her youth than either of them realized.

When they had initially arrived at her parents ranch, Ronan had tucked her sportsbike into the back corner of the structure, leaving her helmet perched on the seat. Now Karen crept toward it, her heart beating fast at what she was about to attempt. Her first serious boyfriend had had a motorbike. Not a crotch rocket like her daughters, but how different could it be?

Karen took the helmet from the seat and slipped it over her head. Holding onto the handlebars, she knocked the kickstand back with her foot. Holding the bike steady, Karen lifted her leg over the metal body, and adjusted herself on the seat. She took a deep breath and carefully started up the bike. After a few jerks and near falls, Karen felt she had her bearings. Gripping the handlebars in determination, she set her jaw and tore out of the garage and away from the ranch.

She knew of a short cut that reduced the travel time to Lewistown by about half an hour. The road was too narrow for either of the SUVs to take, so Karen felt confident that she would arrive at the destination before the Syndicate did. There was only one barn large enough to accommodate the Daeva, she knew. And she knew exactly how to get there. She remembered passing the barn over and over again each summer as she drove to the family ranch with her parents.

For the most part, the trip was smooth. Karen was rather pleased with herself that she was able to handle the bike so well. There were only a few moments where she hit a loose patch of gravel. The bikes front tire would skid and her stomach would descend into her toes as it felt like the bike was about to topple. Luckily, her reflexes were quick enough and handling strong enough to right the bike.

An hour into the ride, the barn in question came into view. Karen increased the speed. She didn't see any sign of the Syndicate's caravan, but she didn't feel like having a close call with them. She wasn't invited on this excursion and she didn't want her presence known until it was too late to send her back.

There was a small, abandoned tool shed about fifty yards from the barn. Karen stowed the Ducati there and made her way across the field. She did an odd, crouched run through the tall grass and dove into a space between two slats of decaying barn wood. A moan of relief passed through her lips as she saw the Daeva sitting there.

Karen suddenly realized she had a new problem: Getting aboard.

Hurriedly, she search for a way the breach the jet's interior. She walked under the plane's belly, looking up at the hatch that lowered the stairs. At one end of the plate, a handle lay flush against the metal. Ronan had to devise a way of getting into the jet if the power failed, after all. Now Karen just needed a way to reach it. She knew it was useless to do so, but she jumped up, her fingers stretched out trying to grasp at anything. She was more than a foot away from success. Karen eyes flicked around the barn, looking for anything that may help her plight. The only thing she saw that might help was a rusted milk pale. She fetched the bucket, turned it on itself and carefully balanced herself on its base. She reached up for the handle again, her fingertips still a good eight inches away from the jet. An annoyed gurgle rumbled at the back of Karen's throat and she jumped. She was able to grab hold of the hatch, but the bucket toppled beneath her. She hung there for a moment, annoyed. Grunting, Karen began to sway, hoping her momentum and jerking motion of her arms would persuade the stairs to release. With one particularly strong pull, she felt the hatch shift. She dropped to the ground as the hydraulic lifts hissed and slowly lowered the stairs half way to the ground.

It would do.

Karen leapt up, grabbing the bottom stair and hoisted herself up. She clambered up the rest of the stairs and into the Daeva's cabin. Problem One: Getting in. Done. Problem Two: Finding a hiding spot. Pending.

Karen's green eyes searched the jet's interior as her heart rate quickened. They had to be getting close now. Karen strode to the back of the cabin, searching frantically for a space to hide. Just as she heard the hum of engines and rustling of grass being crushed, Karen's fingers found a crack in the jet's wall. She pulled and the section of wall slide aside revealing a small closet containing what looked like sky diving gear. The space was too small, but she would have to make it work. Karen jumped as she heard the barn doors being wrenched open and familiar murmurs. Nimbly, she squeezed herself in between and behind the gear, sliding the door closed the best she could. The door was not able to close all the way due to the additional bulk in the closet, but as long as Karen held onto the lip of the cover, only a sliver of the cabin was visible.

Karen heard the muffled opening and closing of car doors. Then a voice. It was Ronan's. Karen wasn't sure what she was saying, it sounded like a question. Sutton answered. Probably something about the Daeva's hatch being a jar. Then Drew said something. Ronan made an indistinguishable remark and the subject was dropped. The cabin lights flickered on and the stairs lowered the rest of the way down. Karen held her breath as people began to pile into the jet. Due to her position and the materials surrounding her, she couldn't see very well. She saw Ronan take her usual place in the captains seat. She watched as Drew and Shego took their seats next to each other. Then Kim Possible came into view, her eyes slightly glazed over.

Five minutes later, Ronan maneuvered the Daeva out of the barn. Karen had to steady herself as the jet moved around. She hoped she wouldn't go spilling out of her hiding spot when the Daeva shot into the air.

It seemed fate was on her side for the time being. Her body stayed put when Ronan lifted the jet up into the air and entered cruising altitude. Karen realized that for the last several minutes that she had scarcely breathed and now she was becoming light headed. With her free hand, she covered her mouth and took in a deep, slow inhale, exhaling in a quiet, steady stream of breath. She repeated this several times. Her long legs were beginning to cramp up.

She could tell this would be the most uncomfortable flight ever. And she had once had to sit between a bickering couple on a ten hour flight to Turkey.

* * *

**A/N: **Reviews pretty please :)


	8. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N: **Holy shit . . . it has been waaaaaaaaaaay too long since I updated. I sincerely apologize to my readers, new and old.

Excuse time: I graduated from college this past May and have been acclimating to a new job - which I have not really been enjoying. That probably played a small role in my depression rearing its ugly head. Things are starting to look up, though. I also have been busy with the fiance planning our wedding.

OK. End of excuses. I will try to update the next chapter within a more reasonable time frame. Thank you to all who read and reviewed the last chapter! And thanks to the folks who faved and began following this story and 'Syndicate'.

**Beckman: **Thanks for the review! I'm glad you enjoyed the little KR bits in the last chapter. More will come, I promise, as their relationship will become important later on. I suppose Ron giving Ronan a modified Indian burn is OOC for him, but I feel that when it comes to Kim and her well being he's not afraid to be a little rough n' tumble – the fight between him and Warhawk comes to mind. As to the comment about his opponent being a woman . . . I see your point. However, Ronan was about to take a swing at Ron's face without a second thought. Ron just blocked the blow and gave her a physical encouragement to leave his lady alone.

As for Miss Karen . . . she may be a chronologically full-grown woman, but mentally? That's up for debate. After all, Ronan does not get questionable decision-making skills just from her father.

**CB73: **Yep. Ron's a pretty good guy. Gotta wait and see if Ronan will take the warning to heart.

**zzooo99: **Keeping it up for you!

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW :)**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own KP**

* * *

Whether the swiftness of the flight had to with the excitement Kim felt that they were _finally _doing something, or if it was dread that they may be walking in to a trap, she did not know. She did know that the Daeva seemed arrived outside of Miami, Florida a lot faster than any other trip she had thus taken on the jet.

Ronan landed the Daeva in a thicket of trees on a small peninsula in the everglades near Miami. Despite her dislike for the agent, Kim was genuinely impressed with her maneuvering of the jet, how she was able to squeeze it in between branches and hanging wreaths of Spanish moss without brushing or bumping against them. The Daeva landed with a soft _thump_, and the hiss of the engines whined down.

"Are there still boots in the back?" Margo queried. As per usual, she was wearing patent black leather pumps – not the most suitable shoe to go traipsing around a swamp in.

"Yeah," Ronan answered from her seat. She was preoccupied with shutting down the jet's operating systems so her eyes remained glued to the Daeva's dash, but she did jerk her thumb behind her shoulder. "They should be behind the jump vests and helmets in the cubby in the back."

Derek, who had been the first to leave his seat – aside from Rooke, strode to the back of the cabin. Besides Ronan, he was the one Syndicate member who regularly jumped, so he was familiar with the stocks of the jet. He reached for the sliding door of the jump equipment compartment. He gave it a gentle tug, expecting it to float open. His brow crumpled in puzzlement when the door stuck. Gripping the handle firmly, he gave the door a forceful pull. This time it slammed back on its tracks and into the adjoining slot.

"Ow!"

Derek took a surprised step back at seeing Karen wedged between the jumping equipment, sucking on her fingers that had been clipped by the sliding door. Despite the shock, Derek began to laugh. The commotion caught the attention of the rest of the company and they all adjusted themselves to see what had sparked the torrent of mirth.

Embarrassed, knowing the jig was up, Karen slowly crawled out of the space. Seeing her mother clamber to her feet, Ronan's eyes grew big and her ears grew hot.

_What the fuck was she doing here?_

"Well, I must say Ms. Anderson, I was not expecting to see you here," Rooke said coolly.

Karen groaned coming to her full height, shaking out her legs and stretching out her back in a series of pops and cracks.

"Mom!" Ronan cried, getting out of her seat. "What are you doing here?"

Derek, still chuckling up a storm, ducked behind Karen and fetched a pair of thick-soled boots.

"Smuggling yourself aboard and stowing yourself away?" he giggled to himself. "Respect!" and punched Karen delicately on the shoulder before passing the footwear onto Margo.

Ronan remained standing, arms taut with disbelief at her side, mouth slightly agape, lower right eyelid beginning to twitch.

Shego took note of her expression more so than others, saying, "I've seen that face plenty of times. I'm out."

She quickly got up and descended down the hatch steps. Angela followed, whistling with mock ease as she went. Derek was next down.

"H-how how?" Ronan rattled, her words getting gummed up in fury.

"I took your bike," Karen explained.

The answer sent Ronan into a new wave a furious, nonsensical, disbelieving utterances. "_You rode my bike?"_

"It's okay. I've rode motorcycles before. It's fine."

"Where is it?"

"I stuck it in that shed that was near the barn."

Again, Ronan made an outraged choking sound in the back of her throat. Kim and Ron looked at each other. They had heard Drakken make similar sounds on a regular basis, although in a deeper register.

"Y-y-you . . . _you,"_ Ronan managed to seethe. Her long fingers flexed at her sides and her cheek convulsed. Clearly she was having difficulty fully expressing her utmost agitation with words. "_What're you doing?"_ she finally managed.

"I would like to know that as well," Margo added, taking her heels in hand and slipping on the boots.

Taking a moment to think about it, Karen eventually said, "I was tired of being left behind."

She looked at her daughter, an expression creeping across her face that alluded to times other than the present where she had felt abandoned. Ronan finally shut her mouth, her anger simmering down into something more repugnant than vicious. She sat back down in her captain's chair and swiveled forward.

"I'm taking you back to the ranch."

"No!"

"Mom – "

"Enough, ladies," Rooke interrupted, diplomatically holding up a hand. He gave Ronan a warning look before turning to her mother, "What do you want to do?"

Karen blinked. She wasn't expecting that. She was expecting the Syndicate leader to agree with his agent about sending her back to her parents'. Karen thought about the question for a moment before answering.

"I wanna help."

A condescending, disbelieving, one-note laugh made its way through Ronan's throat. Rooke eyed his agent, but did nothing else to acknowledge her 'comment'. He brought his attention back to Karen.

"You want to help," he repeated. He smiled. "Very well. But remember, you are the one who wanted to come along."

"What the hell is she gonna do?" Ronan demanded.

"Having grown up around maids, caterers and other forms of 'help'," Rooke said, looking at Karen but responding Ronan's inquiry, "you know how to behave as one."

It wasn't really a question; it was a statement of fact, but Karen answered him anyway. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Good," he said. "Then you will go undercover as one of the servers at the party."

Ronan's mouth fell back open and the interior of the jet fell silent.

"Close your mouth, dear," Margo said. "You're catching flies."

"But Mink – Anya knows what she looks like," Kim pointed out. "What happens if she is pointed out?"

"We will have to deal with that if and when it comes about," Rooke said simply. "It will be helpful to have eyes on all sides of the event. I am assuming Karen realizes the risks of her request, otherwise she wouldn't have asked."

He looked keenly at Karen who quickly responded: "Er – yes! Absolutely!"

"Good. Well then, let's get moving."

With that Rooke and Margo – heels in hand – made their way down the stairs. Karen, Ronan, Drakken, Kim, Ron, and Sutton were left in the jet. Ronan's amber eyes were still judgmental slits fixed upon her mother. Her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to say something further. She seemed to think better of it though, because she got up and walked down the Daeva steps, Sutton close at heel.

"I guess we better get going then," Kim muttered, getting up herself and heading for the hatch. Ron followed suit, sparing Karen and Drakken a glance before disappearing out of the jet.

"I thought you were going to stay behind," Drakken said after the teens had exited.

Karen shrugged. "I changed my mind." Drakken shook his head, heading for the stairs. "_What?"_

Drakken murmured that it was nothing and took the steps down. Karen followed close behind.

It was hot and humid, as Florida usually was. It was the early evening now and the sun was in the pre-stages of setting. The small spit of land the Daeva rested on was surrounded by shallow swamp, the banks of which were not terribly apparent and there were several instances that one member of the group or another would accidently step into the green, murky water.

Shego had pulled her long hair back into a bushy ponytail – her thick hair did not take well to humidity and was beginning to poof and frizz with all the glamour of a bad eighties hair style. After a few minutes, Kim found she had to do the same.

The second leg of their journey was on foot, a short hike through the marshland. Apparently, there was a small, run down trailer park and mechanics shop two miles away. From there, they would continue to Miami.

When they arrived at the park, it appeared to be deserted. The few trailers that were there were rusted and dilapidated. If it hadn't been for the small faces peering out at them from behind tattered curtains, Kim would've thought that the property had been foreclosed long ago.

The mechanics shop stood a few yards away from the trailers, looking equally as run down. The windows were opaque with dirt and mildew. A few were cracked and someone had tried to rectify the problem using packaging tape.

The entire property was dismal and sad. And smelled awful. A mix of polluted water, mold, garbage, and burnt oil.

Without batting an eye, Rooke headed right for the mechanics shop. The front door he pushed open screeched on its hinges and sounded as though it would fall right off. It didn't though, and so the group followed Rooke inside.

The building had no air conditioning and was not well ventilated. That being the case, the smell was now more intense and hot, stinging the nostrils of the visitors. Ron actually gagged and Rufus covered his paws over his mouth and tried burying himself even deeper into his owner's pocket – as if that would somehow quell the stench.

Rooke was unfazed by this. He walked up to the door behind the service counter and knocked politely. Kim wasn't sure, but could've sworn she heard a gruff mumble from behind the flimsy wood. Rooke opened the door ajar and stuck his head in. He had a brief, inaudible conversation with whoever was behind the door and then shut it. He then went back to the service counter, opened a drawer and took out two sets of keys. He tossed one to Derek and kept the other.

With a gesture, he directed the group to the door on the west side of the building. Opening it revealed the garage portion of the shop. In it, there were two large 1956 Lincoln Continentals. Black in color, as it seemed to be Rooke's preference. The groups split accordingly and piled into the rides. In front of them, the garage doors rattled and shook as they were lifted open by some unseen force. And they were off.

Urban Miami shot up from the ground with very little warning. One minute, they were driving along dusty roads between shafts of tall swamp grass, the next they were traversing the trafficked streets of the city. At this point, dusk had fallen and the lights of establishments were coming to life.

Kim wasn't aware that there journey had come to an end until the car pulled to a stop in front of a large hotel of a franchised disposition. She watched, as the car Rooke had took slowed to a stop across the street. Ronan and Karen got out on the curb, and the car pulled away again. Belatedly, Kim realized that the rest of the car's occupants were exiting the vehicle. Scrambling, she got out of the car.

"Rooke and Margo have two penthouses on reserve at the Miami Villa near the beach," Angie explained as the mother and daughter approached the other car. "I reserved rest of us rooms here." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the motel behind her.

Since there was an uneven number in the group, Angela, Kim, and Ron were set up to share one of the rooms. The two brothers were to share one as well, leaving Ronan and her mother to bunk for the night. Needless to say, Ronan was not pleased with this. She would've much rather spent the night with Sutton, but then that would've left Derek and Karen to room together and that would've been strange and awkward for the both of them.

The three rooms were neighboring compartments on the second floor of the backside of the motel. The accommodations were nice enough, but had the undeniable repetition and monotony of standardized rooms: muted beige colors, thin carpet, starchy blackout curtains, and one large plastic sink near the back.

Upon entering their room, Kim's heart gave a small 'tap-tap' of awkwardness and her stomach clenched. There was only one bed.

Before anything else could be said, Angela brushed past her peers saying, "You two can have the bed. I'll take the floor."

She immediately began setting up camp against the wall, sprawling out a small roll-up cot and shaking out the extra blanket from the faux closet near the sink. Kim looked to her boyfriend, who wore an equally conflicted look on his face.

They had never slept together – in either sense of the word. Sure, Kim's head may have lulled sleepily onto Ron's shoulder once or twice when they were sitting next to each other, but that didn't count. And it wasn't like they were going to try the latter definition with someone sleeping near the foot of the bed. Still, Kim couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable about it.

Unlike a good handful of the girls Kim knew from school, she still had her . . . cherry intact, shall we say. There was one instance when she and Josh Mankey were dating where she came close, but something had stopped her. It just didn't feel right, and shortly after that she had begun to draw herself away from and it led to their subsequent break up.

Kim was sure Ron had not gone 'all the way' with a girl, either. She knew he would've told her if he did.

Kim tried to stifle the bubbling unease inside. _Come on. It's not like Ron and I are actually gonna do it. We're just gonna sleep. That's it. No big._

It wasn't as if Angela had said: "I'll sleep on the floor while you two bang in the bed. Try and keep it quiet though."

"Thanks," Kim eventually said, and took a few steps into the room. Ron closed the door behind them.

* * *

Rooke, Margo, Drakken, and Shego continued on down the road a few more blocks until a lavish beach side resort appeared on their left side. Rooke pulled into its parking lot and turned off the car. Margo replaced her boots with her heels once again and got out.

"We have two penthouse suites reserved at this hotel at any given time," Rooke explained as the four strode into the massive, marble lined lobby.

Shego's mouth hung open in uncontrollable excitement. After having spent the last several days spending time with people she would've preferred not to spend time with and sleeping in strange, unusual places, this extravagant hotel was a welcome change. Chances were, she only get to spend two nights here, but Shego was not about to complain. Her green eyes travelled sporadically around the lobby, the lower right wing gaining her attention in particular.

_A spa. Good lord._ Shego was almost salivating.

Before she could investigate the establishment's offerings, Margo whisked her niece away to the lobby elevators. The doors closed automatically behind them and Rooke slid one of the two keycards the front desk gave him along the slot next to the numbered floor buttons. The elevator made a swift, nearly imperceptible accent to the top floor of the hotel. The doors noiselessly slid open and the four adults stepped onto the landing. There were pairs of large doors on opposing wall. Margo handed Shego the second keycard.

"Here," she said, placing the plastic in Shego's hand. "You and Dr. Drakken take the West Penthouse, enjoy the view of the sunset. Stephen and I will be in the East. Tomorrow morning, you and I will be going to the Capital Bank."

"What's there?"

"Accessories you and I will need for the party," Margo explained simply.

With that, the two couples parted ways, disappearing into their allotted suites.

"Wow," Drakken muttered as he took in the sight of the room.

"'Wow' is appropriate," Shego agreed, coming to stand at his side.

The penthouse was much airier than the suite they had shared at the Willard hotel back in DC. The décor was of an art deco persuasion and was decidedly monochromatic in color – lots of black and white, a splash of a primary color here and there. The far wall was a wide expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows, and they opened on to the suite's balcony.

Shego stepped down into the slightly sunken living room, watching as the waning sun created bright oranges and muted greys against the forms of the penthouse. Drakken meandered off into one of the adjoining rooms.

"Oh!" she heard him cry. "Pillow mints!"

She smirked and shook her head. Running her fingers through the knots in her ponytail, Shego followed Drakken's path into the bedroom. It was half the size of the living room – which was nothing to sniff at. The black and white color scheme bled through to this room, creating an artistic flow of sorts.

Drakken had already plucked one of the pillow mints from its cushion, and was sucking on it. He was now pawing through the mini fridge and the basket of snacks the hotel staff had left them.

Shego leaned against the bathroom doorframe as she fingered a particular gnarled knot. Stupid humidity. As she did, she absentmindedly glanced behind into the master bath. Large, tiled, clean. Shego suddenly couldn't remember the last time she had had a good shower or soak. A relieved smile grew across her face.

"I'm going to take a shower," she stated suddenly. She paused and looked at Drakken meaningfully.

"Okay," he mumbled, inspecting the nutrition information on a candy bar wrapper.

Shego felt her head shake from side to side automatically. Was he really so oblivious? Dropping the tangle she was working on, she walked over and grabbed the candy from him.

"Hey doofus. That wasn't just a statement. It was an _invitation_," Shego purred, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"Oh," Drakken hiccupped; his eyes getting bigger and a strip of blush appeared across his nose and cheeks.

"Are you RSVPing?"

"Er – absolutely!" he declared, the automatic surprise he felt ebbing away.

"Good," Shego said, turning on her heel and strutting toward the bathroom.

In one slick move, she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to the bedroom floor. Seconds after she disappeared into the bathroom, her bra came flying out the doorway and nearly whipped Drakken in the face. Not wanting to waste anymore time, the doctor followed his partner, trying to remove articles of clothing as he went – although, he was not as graceful in this skill as Shego was.

* * *

In an attempt to diffuse any hostility between mother and daughter, Derek and Sutton ordered a couple of pizzas and invited everyone in the group to their room to discuss the Bermuda Club mission. They set the greasy pies on the desk in their room, along with a roll of paper towels.

After loading up themselves up with a slice or two – or in Ron's case _six_ – the group sat haphazardly around the two queen beds.

Once Ron perched on the foot of the farthest bed and Rufus immediately leapt from his cargo pants pocket. The naked mole rat scurried to the feast and grabbed a glob of cheese oozing from one of Ron's pizza slices. Rufus let out a squeal that sounded oddly like 'Cheese!' and stuffed the food into his mouth.

"Alright," Derek said, flopping down on one of the beds, "let's get this party started."

Angela, pizza slice held between her lips, pulled a large folded piece of paper from her bag. She shook it out and laid it on the bed.

"Disf iff uh boo prin off da Bermooda Triangle," Angela muffled through a mouthful of pizza.

"How did you two get in last time?" Sutton asked Kim.

Kim finished her bite and answered, "We swam to the West side of the island, and snuck in through a service entrance." She pointed to the appropriate points on the print.

"That may not necessarily work for us," Sutton sighed. "It'll probably work for you, though," he gestured to Karen, who nodded vaguely – the food in her mouth suddenly becoming difficult to sallow.

"What we need is to get into Brotherson's office," Angela stated, her eyes scanning the paper. "Banquet hall, stage, backstage area, bar, kitchen," she muttered, fingering the rooms clearly indicated. Other rooms were not labeled; mostly the rooms above the main floor of the club.

"Well, it's gotta be one of these," Sutton said, flipping through the blue prints to the upper levels of the club.

"There's well over fifty rooms total," Derek pointed out. "How are we going to search all fifty rooms without attracting attention?"

"Carefully," Ronan remarked.

* * *

The pizza soiree finished round about ten in the evening. The group returned to their rooms and retired for the night. Angela curled up on her mat and immediately fell asleep.

Kim and Ron stood side by side at the sink brushing their teeth. Kim spit and rinsed off her brush. She filled her hands with water and splashed her face. Ron finished with his teeth and brought the brush down to the sink where Rufus perched. The mole rat reached for the brush, bringing to his incisors and moved his face around the bristles. When the pet finished, both he and his owner spat.

After rinsing out the sink, the couple headed to bed; Rufus curled up in a fluffy, dry washcloth. Kim and Ron stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at it.

"So, which side do you want?" Ron asked timidly.

"Er – this side, I suppose," Kim answered, moving to the left side of the bed.

"I'll take this side then."

"Okay."

"Good."

The teens awkwardly slipped under the covers and stared at the ceiling. The pair lay in silence for a while, their hands resting above the covers, staring at the ceiling. Why was this so weird?

"Why is this so weird?" Ron asked, voicing Kim's thoughts.

Kim blinked. "I dunno."

Ron turned his head to look at her. Kim did the same, locking green eyes with brown. After a moment, a sweet smile crossed her face.

"It's not," she finally conceded.

Ron returned the grin and relaxed into the pillows.

* * *

Despite it being near eleven at night, Ronan was not ready to go to bed. She stood in the motel's parking lot, the light from the street lamps bathing her in an unnatural yellow wash. Karen had already lain down for the night, so Ronan didn't bother telling her that she was going out.

Hearing a clatter on the motel stairs, she turned from the street to see Sutton descend from the second floor. Ronan gave once last drag on the cigarette between her lips before tossing the butt to the ground and stepping on it.

"Where to?" Sutton asked, walking up to her.

Ronan looked back at the neon lit streets, glancing either way down the boulevard they were on. Grabbing his hand, they walked down the sidewalk together.

Eventually, they found their way to a hole-in-the-wall dive bar. It was crowded with all manner of drunks, slime balls, fake IDs, and the occasional hooker – pure character. The back room of the bar was less crowded and Ronan procured a worn vinyl booth as Sutton shouldered his way to the bar for drinks. He returned, brushing past a pair making out sloppily in the hallway. He set the dark brown bottle in front of Ronan and took his own seat.

"Thanks," Ronan muttered, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a swig.

Sutton took a sip of his own drink. "So, is it going to be safe for you and your mom to spend the night in the same room together?"

"Hopefully I'll have enough of these to knock me on my ass before we get back to the hotel," Ronan responded gesturing the bottle in her hands.

Sutton smirked and gently bumped his bottle against hers. They both took a drink.

"Possible's boyfriend gave me a 'what-for' today before we left the ranch," Ronan said suddenly, setting down her bottle.

Sutton grinned. "Really? What'd he do?"

"Told me to leave Kim alone. He said I am a _bad influence._"

Sutton laughed. "Who? You?"

"That's what I said," Ronan replied, smiling. "I don't know where he gets the idea."

Sutton shook his head lightly, running his hand through his hair before taking another sip.

"Before I took Kim down to the basement, I had a somewhat similar talk with her."

Ronan cocked an eyebrow and asked, "What about?"

"She wanted to know what I possibly see in you."

Ronan's lips briefly dipped into a frown before taking a large mouthful of beer muttering: "Bitch."

"I thought it was rather rude," Sutton agreed.

The pair finished their drinks and Ronan got up to get two more. When she returned placed the two bottles on the table. Before she resumed her seat, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her back jeans pocket. As she flopped back down in the booth, she put one cigarette between her lips and held out another to Sutton. He smirked.

"You _are _a bad influence," he said, taking her offering.

Ronan took out her silver lighter, lit her cigarette and then tossed it over to Sutton. He lit his and then set the lighter down on the table. Sutton wasn't a habitual smoker. Every now and again he would light up, but he wasn't nearly dependent on it as Ronan was.

"Do you want to know what I said?" Sutton asked flirtatiously. He tapped the ash off the tip of his cigarette.

Ronan eyed him with interest. She, too, tapped her cigarette against the tray and took up her beer. "Sure. Why not?"

"I told her how we met –"

"The pub."

"Yeah. And how you threw your number and address at me."

Ronan snickered at the memory. "You were insufferably persistent," she commented.

Sutton smiled. "She didn't seem to understand. I finally told her that sometimes . . . you just know when you meet somebody important."

Ronan looked up from her drink. She was baffled how he could say stuff like that and not piss her off or make her uncomfortable. His tone was without exaggeration, beautifully sincere. Every now and again, when self-doubt and deprecation were foremost in her thoughts, she wondered how someone as altruistic as he could feel for someone like her. What had she done to deserve him?

When they had finished at the bar, Sutton and Ronan decided to stave off sleep further by walking the boardwalk butted up against the beach. The walk itself was lit with colorful paper lanterns, streetlights, and the neon glow of nearby restaurants and bars. Even for it being after midnight, there were still handfuls of people moving up and down the boardwalk, entering and exiting various establishments.

Ronan and Sutton walked near the far end of the wooden walkway, grazing the railing that separated beach and city. Their hands were clasped and fingers entwined, their gaits leisurely with tipsiness. The couple eventually came to a stand still, just listening to the soft crashes and sweeps of the ocean along the sand. Ronan turned her back to the sound and leaned against the railing. The sound behind her and the alcohol in her made her feel unusually content and fuzzy. Sutton came to hover in front of her, and she glanced up at his face.

"What happens when this is all over?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Ronan asked, the words lazily slipping from her lips.

"When this mission is over what're you gonna do? What're your plans?"

Sutton stepped closer, falling into her personal space – a time-honored move of inebriation. Ronan didn't mind though. Her hands came to rest on his hips and slowly wound their way to his back, where her long fingers wandered over his shirt.

"I dunno," Ronan finally said. "I hadn't thought that far ahead. Why?"

Her right hand slipped into the back pocket of Sutton's jeans and rested there. Her head dipped forward, their cheekbones and hair grazing each other. Sutton's arms had wound themselves lightly around Ronan's waist.

"I just thought it might be nice," he began, "if you and I took a little break from the Syndicate. Travel."

Sutton tilted his head and kissed Ronan very softly.

"Where would we go?" she asked, once he pulled away. Her right hand remained in his jeans pocket, but her left hand travelled up his back possessively. She held the back of his neck and kissed him again in a surprisingly timid way.

"Anywhere," he answered as she released him. His right hand left her waist and cradled her head. "We could go up to London. Visit Prague. Venice. Crete. We could do something a little more exotic and go to Tibet or Bali. Maybe even New Zealand."

Ronan smiled and chuckled under her breath. It did sound nice.

"That sounds awesome."

"Good."

It wasn't long until their lips found each other again.

* * *

For once, Shego roused before Drakken. She stretched, sinking farther into the voluminous comforter. The soft sheets felt like lotion against her bare skin. After lying motionless for a second, she slipped out of the bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping partner. Shego reached her arms above her head and stood on her tippy-toes, stretching the full length of her naked body. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, covering her breasts as if she were some kind of mermaid. Lazily, she meandered to the bathroom and fetched one of the two hotel issued bathrobes. She cloaked herself in the silky fabric and went out to the suite's living area.

The hands of the wall clock read 8:45. Shego was mildly surprised that Drakken was not up yet. He was usually up and about well before now. She shrugged away the thought as she searched through the papers near the suite's phone. Once she found what she was looking for, Shego picked up the phone's receiver, punched in room service's number and ordered breakfast.

Drakken was finally encouraged out of bed by the smell of bacon, coffee and toast. He slowly unwound himself from the blanket, covered his bare form in the provided robe and shuffled out of the bedroom. Yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Drakken glanced around the suite's living room. Seeing that Shego had brought breakfast onto the balcony, he made his way over.

"Morning," Shego greeted as he slid open the glass door and out onto the landing.

"Morning," he returned as he took the chair across from hers. He nervously eyed the newspaper in her hands. "Anything in there?"

Shego closed the print, folded it in half and carelessly tossed in on the table, "Just updates on the dead and injured. No names," she added.

Drakken poured himself a cup of coffee. "How are you?" he asked, taking a sip.

She frowned and shrugged. "Angry."

Drakken reached for a piece of toast and took a bite, contemplating the sensibility of asking his next question.

"Are you gonna be okay tomorrow?' he asked carefully.

To his surprise, Shego wryly grinned.

"Why?" she queried. "Afraid I might lose my temper? C'mon Dr. D, it's not like I'm prone to emotional outbursts or anything. But seriously, though, the guy who's inviting us is a fucking asshole. It'll be difficult not to rip his face off."

Looking for something to distract her, Shego took up the small bowl of fruit next to her newspaper and popped a chunk of melon in her mouth. Her brow angled down giving a sense of intense concentration as she sucked on the fruit.

"What about . . . Minka, or Anya? Whoever she is."

Shego locked eyes with Drakken again. She bit down on the melon and rolled it over to the other side of her mouth. She eventually looked away.

"You're gonna hold my hand all night tomorrow," Shego finally said, after swallowing the melon. "You're not gonna let me go."

"You got it."

* * *

At eleven in the morning, Margo knocked on Shego and Drakken's suite door. Expecting her, Shego answered and the two women headed down to the ground floor. The got into the Lincoln they had arrived in and drove into the heart of downtown Miami.

Margo parked the car along the street outside of a large bank. After feeding the meter, the two women climbed up the front steps and entered the stone lobby of the building.

"I would like open my safe deposit boxes, please," Margo told the teller at the desk.

She handed over her identification card and the teller carefully inspected it; glancing down at the card and back up at Margo. Seeming satisfied, the teller punched in the numerical code on the card into her computer. She disappeared into a back room for a moment and came back with a small brass key.

Stepping out of the teller booth, she said, "Right this way, Ms. Gordon."

Margo and Shego were led through the lobby, towards the back of the building. Coming up to a door, the teller chose one of the keys attached to the lanyard around her neck and opened it. The door opened onto a case of descending stairs. At the bottom, they stepped onto a small landing. In front of them was a large circular metal door with no handles. The teller stepped forward, swiped her identification card across a scanner to the door's right and it flipped over, being replaced with a keypad. She punched in a code and stood back as the mechanisms of the safe door clinked and whirred. The heavy bang and grinding shift of metal accompanied the slow reveal of the room beyond the vault door.

Before stepping inside the safe, Margo muttered to her niece: "Don't get any funny ideas."

The teller approached the appropriate set of the boxes and took them from their resting places. She set them on the table along with the brass key.

"Just use the phone on the wall when you're down, and I'll come down to close up," the teller explained, gesturing to the red-corded phone mounted on the wall.

"Thank you," Margo said.

The teller took her leave, extracting a steel accordion gate that closed off the vault from the stairway and locked it. Margo and Shego watched as disappeared back up to the main floor.

"What's in the box?" Shego asked, turning back to the table.

Margo had taken up the key and began opening the three safety boxes in front of her. Looking over her aunt's shoulder, she felt her jaw involuntarily drop. Shimmering pools of precious stones and metals glimmered flirtatiously up at her.

"Jewelry," Margo answered simply. "We can't go bare to the party tomorrow."

"I take it you've already made arrangements for the rest of our ensemble?"

"Of course. We're not going to attend naked."

Gently, Margo lifted a necklace from one of the boxes. The setting was white gold and it was thick with large, irregular-shaped diamonds. Stepping around Shego, she brought the piece to rest along her niece's chest and latched it in the back.

"This is a piece Stephen recovered from a mission to Somalia," she explained. "Its total weight is approximately five hundred carats. For whatever reason, whoever set the diamonds didn't want to be bothered shaping them, so they were left in their raw state."

The necklace was heavy. Shego could feel the weight of jewelry pressing down against her skin. It was the price one paid for adorning such magnificent gems. Shego looked down at her chest and brought her fingers to the jagged facets of the stones.

"Diamonds in the rough," she muttered dryly.

"Much like you, my dear."

* * *

When Karen returned from the hotel's continental breakfast, she found Ronan still sprawled across her bed's comforter fully clothed. She had been like that when Karen left for breakfast about an hour earlier. It was time to get up. Without warning she flipped on the bright lights of their hotel room. Ronan flinched, moaned, reached for a pillow and covered her head.

"Mooooom."

"Get up."

"Why?" came the muffled question.

"Because it's eleven o'clock in the morning, that's why."

"So?" Ronan incredulously whined. "We have nothing to do until tomorrow night."

Karen walked over and sat on the edge of Ronan's bed. She sighed and looked down at her hands. She glanced over at her daughter and grabbed the pillow off her head. Without missing a beat, Ronan grabbed the second pillow on her bed and masked her head. Karen grabbed that one too. Ronan grunted angrily and flipped over on her backside. She eyed her mother with irritated lethargy.

"What?"

"How is tomorrow night going to go?" Karen asked. A hint of worry edged out her voice.

Ronan snorted. "Are you kidding me? You're the one who fucking volunteered for this shit. You hijacked my bike and snuck abroad my fucking plane."

"Do you need to swear so much?"

"Given the bullshit you've put me through, I think I'm entitled to speak whatever way I want."

"Don't even," Karen warned, her eyes folding into slits. "I've already conceded to the fact that I am not 'mother-of-the-year' – "

"I know, I know," Ronan sighed, finally sitting up. She breathed heavily through her nose and ran her fingers through her strip of hair. "Tomorrow will be tough. I won't lie: You have the hardest job. On top of that, you've never done anything like this before."

"Am I going to need . . . a gun, or something?"

Ronan grinned and chuckled. "No offense, Mom, but I am in no way going to give you a weapon."

"What do I do then if I get into trouble?"

"You should've thought of that before you snuck along on this excursion," Ronan pointed out. "You'll be fine."

"Thanks for not taking me back," Karen said after a beat.

"I get that you didn't want to be left behind," Ronan said, "but if Margo and Rooke hadn't given you the all clear, I would've taken you back to Grandma and Grandpa's. Just so we're clear."

* * *

The day passed without much incidence. The groups stayed in and around their respective accommodations. Very little was said about the upcoming mission.

Kim and Ron touched base with Wade and were elated to learn that Monique, Felix and their families had survived the decimation of Middleton – although, not completely unscathed. Once Felix had been pulled from the rubble, it was quickly determined that his legs would need to be amputated. Despite that, he was fine.

Kim and Angela also got in contact with Mr. Bailey to confirm their pick up and ride to the waters near The Bermuda Triangle nightclub.

Everything was as set as prepared as it could be – which was not as nearly as comforting as one could've hoped.

* * *

**A/N: **Not gonna lie: Not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out, but I couldn't seem to save it. Eh, it got done what needed to get done.

Regarding bedtime with Kim and Ron: Even though they've been friends forever and are in love and what not, I still see them being slightly uncomfortable with initiating anything sexually intimate. That, and, I'm not a huge fan of the pairing in the first place.

Please review! I know this chapter wasn't the best, but I hoped you liked it all the same. 'Til next time, my lovelies!


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